


The Reluctant Queen

by December_Daughter



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 77,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/December_Daughter/pseuds/December_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen's life is irrevocably changed the day Felicity Smoak sets foot in his office. And it has surprisingly little to do with the fact that the first time they meet, she's blackmailing him into a marriage.<br/>The Bratva didn't prepare him for this (and Digg is never going to let him forget it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello! So let me start by saying that this is an AU, and I've never written a multi-chapter AU before. I don't want to give a lot away, but these are the two main things you should know about this story: it focuses heavily on the fact that Oliver is a member of the Bratva, and the Queen's Gambit still sank. Everything else will be explained (in time).
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Spoilers: None.
> 
> Disclaimer: Arrow is not mine. I'm not making any money off of this work of fiction; please don't sue.

 

**Prologue**

* * *

 

 

 

Felicity's heart was crashing into her ribcage so hard it hurt. As quietly as she could, the blonde ducked into an alleyway and sought out the darkest corner. She pushed herself into the brick wall there and sucked in a huge breath, and then held it. She willed the blood to stop pounding in her ears long enough for her to listen for footsteps.

There were none.

No one had followed her. When her lungs were threatening to combust she exhaled slowly and closed her eyes for the longest second that she dared. Her hand clenched painfully around the USB drive she held.

Felicity drew comfort from the inanimate object. She had a plan, and her plan was going to work.

She refused to entertain the idea of what would happen if it didn't.

On impulse, Felicity pulled the collar of her blouse away from her neck and shoved the USB into the space between her breasts. She readjusted her bra to make sure that it wouldn't fall out, and then she peeked around the corner of the alley and out into the street.

No one was out at nearly two in the morning.

Panting more from adrenaline and fear than exertion, Felicity half-jogged the next two blocks and then swung wildly into a parking garage. She tucked herself against one of the wide support columns and held her breath again.

Still no footsteps; she slipped farther into the parking garage.

Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat by the time Felicity got to her car.

"Mom?" she whispered.

"Felicity?"

Donna Smoak popped up from the shadows that hung in the space between the wall and her daughter's Mini Cooper.

"Are you okay?" Donna asked immediately. She stepped around the car to pull her daughter into a tight hug. "Were you followed?"

Felicity shook her head quickly. Now that she was face to face with her mother, her throat felt closed off. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. There was more than adrenaline running through her now; there was a real and present fear. What they were doing – what she was about to do – was crazy. Crazy, and desperate, and the Smoak women didn't have another choice. Felicity had to do this and it had to work, but now, standing with her mother, she realized how impossible it all was. She felt like she was breaking down.

Donna hugged her daughter as tightly as she could manage. She ran a hand up and down Felicity's back and tried to blink away the tears in her eyes. As a little girl, Donna could tell when her daughter was going to sob – not cry, but really, truly sob with abandon – by the way she started to pant and choke on air.

Just like she was doing now.

"You can do this, baby," Donna said as evenly as she could manage. "You're brilliant, and this plan is going to work."

"But what if it doesn't, mom? I can't just leave you here and -."

"Listen to me, Felicity Meghan Smoak." Donna pulled back and put both of her hands on her daughter's cheeks. "You are going get in this car and leave this city, forever. Promise me that you won't come back, baby. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you can't come back."

"Mom …"

"Promise me, Felicity."

Her daughter was crying now, and her tears brought out the ones that Donna had fought so hard to hide.

"I promise, mom. And I promise that I'll get you out of here, just as soon as I can."

"I know you will, baby. Now, your suitcases are in the trunk and I've switched the plates, just like you told me to. All of your gadgets are under the passenger seat."

"Thank you," Felicity whispered.

"Don't ever forget that I love you, Felicity. You're my favorite thing in the world, baby girl. My very favorite thing."

Felicity allowed herself a handful of moments to sob into her mother's shoulder. She couldn't count how many times she'd done the same thing over the years, or how many times Donna had played with the ends of her hair until she calmed down; there was every possibility that this was the last time either of those things would happen.

"I love you, mom."

"I love you, too. Now get in that car."

Afterward, Felicity didn't remember the pinpoints of multi-colored lights that flickered in her rear view mirror as she fled Las Vegas; all she remembered was thinking that the air had turned to ash in her lungs, and that her heart was breaking.

* * *

 

"I will not be responsible for whatever revenge your sister exacts on you if you cancel dinner with her again."

Oliver tore tired eyes away from the financial report in his hand. He blinked and squinted until his vision was focused again.

John Diggle was standing just inside the glass door of his office, hands clasped in front of him. He didn't look impressed.

"Dinner?" Oliver repeated. He glanced at his watch. "No. It can't be six already. When did that happen?"

"The same time it happens every night, Oliver," Diggle answered dryly.

Oliver glared at his friend and bodyguard. "I said seven, right? I know I told Raisa seven tonight."

"You did, which is why I'm here an hour early to remind you."

"Oh, of course," Oliver deadpanned. "That's why. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Raisa promised to make her best filet mignon for dinner."

Diggle's mouth pulled back into a smirk. "Did she? What a coincidence."

Oliver shook his head good-naturedly and stood. He dropped the financial report onto the top of his desk with a loud thwack, relieved to be done with it for the night, and tugged his suit jacket off the back of his chair. Dinner and a movie with Thea sounded like the perfect reprieve from a day of office drudgery.

The hurried staccato of heels on marble drew him up short. Oliver glanced to the door of his glass office just in time to see it swing open. The blonde woman who accompanied the clicking heels practically barreled into the middle of the room, straight passed a surprised Diggle.

Diggle recovered quickly, "Stop," he commanded.

The woman stopped mid-stride. She glanced at Digg over her shoulder and then turned wide, almost wild eyes on Oliver.

"Are you all right?" Oliver ventured carefully.

He took stock of her appearance. She was dressed casually, but her clothes were nice. Despite the noise that they had created on her arrival, her shoes were flat. Her eyes were blue behind her glasses, and clearly said that she'd spent no small amount of time crying.

The tiny woman – because she was tiny – sucked in a huge breath and then squared her shoulders. Oliver had seen his sister do the same thing when she was preparing for a fight, and he tensed automatically.

"My name is Felicity Smoak," she started. Her voice was quiet, but firm. Resolute. "And I'm here to make a deal."

No one spoke.

Then, perhaps stupidly, Oliver said, "What?"

Felicity Smoak ignored him in favor of glancing back at Diggle. "Don't shoot me," she told him. "I'm going to pull a file out of my purse."

"Shoot you?" Diggle repeated. His eyes narrowed.

"You were about to reach for the gun in your waist band, weren't you?" The way she said it made it clear she wasn't really asking a question. "Just don't shoot me. I promise I'm not armed."

Oliver let go of the collar of his coat and stepped slowly around the desk. Felicity turned so that she could keep both him and Diggle in her line of sight and watched both of them warily.

What the hell? Oliver thought.

"He won't hurt you, Felicity." Oliver kept his tone neutral. Her name felt strange on his tongue.

"Promise?"

Oliver's disbelief must have shown on his face, because all of the air and the fight seemed to leak out of her then. Felicity's shoulders sagged heavily and she blew out a gust of air.

"It's just, I've had a pretty terrible seventy two hours and I really don't want to end it with a bullet in my chest. Or brain. Or anywhere, really, but I'm sure you understood what I meant the first time around. The point is, this week has been filled with a whole lot of suck for me, okay?"

Oliver stared at her, stunned. He had half a mind to pinch himself, because this whole situation was too bizarre to be real. He must have fallen asleep at his desk with that damned financial report in his hand.

"I'm not going to shoot you," Digg said finally. Oliver glanced away from the woman long enough to see that his friend was smiling.

"Thanks for that. Anyway, moving on."

Felicity pulled a manila folder out of the purse slung over her shoulder. She held it tightly in both hands and then held it a few inches away from her chest. Oliver recognized that she wasn't offering it to him; she was more using at as a shield, an ineffectual barrier between them.

"I'm here to make a deal," Felicity started again. "With Oliver Queen."

"And what is it you want, Felicity?" Oliver queried. "Money? Fame?"

She tipped her head to the side and fixed him with a scowl. The expression was so incongruous, so out of place in the situation that Oliver nearly smiled.

Who the hell was this woman?

"Protection," Felicity stated. "For myself, and my mother. Donna."

Against all rationale and good sense, Oliver felt himself being drawn in. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and schooled his expression into the one that Thea had labeled "bland businessman". He had no idea what to expect from this situation, but he knew that he didn't want to give away the fact that she had piqued his interest.

"Protection from whom?"

"Someone who wouldn't hesitate to put me six feet in the ground."

Oliver's eyebrows hiked into his hairline. "And you think that the CEO of Queen Consolidated can you protect you from this person?"

"No." Felicity inhaled, and then offered him the manila folder. "But I know that a Captain of the Russian mafia can."

Shocked, Oliver reached for the folder on autopilot. There was no way that she could have just said what he thought she'd said. Except that when he looked at Digg, all of the amusement in his bodyguard's face had been replaced by suspicion.

This was definitely real; there was no way he'd have a dream this preposterous.

When Oliver took hold of the folder, the tremors that radiated down the object made him realize that Felicity was trembling.

He didn't have to open the folder – he already had a good idea of what was inside – but he did so anyway. Sure enough, it was full of documents that linked him irrevocably to the Russian mafia.

"Oliver Queen," Felicity recited, as though she knew the information by heart. "Captain of the Bratva, and the only American to earn such a high rank in the last fifty years or more, depending on where you get your information. There's no evidence that you had dealings with the Brotherhood until two years ago, when you came back from the dead. Obviously you weren't lost at sea for the entirety of those five years."

Oliver clenched his jaw and fixed hard eyes on the woman who still stood in the middle of his office. The sun was setting outside his windows, heralding the end of the day; and what an end it was.

He was being blackmailed. Unbelievable.

"And what deal is it you expect me to make, Felicity? Your silence, in exchange for what?"

Without the folder to hold on to, Felicity began to fidget. She tugged at the fingers of one hand with the other and shifted her weight onto one foot.

"Protection," she breathed, as terrified again as she had been on that mad dash to her car. "Through marriage."

The bark of laughter that emanated from Diggle's throat was loud, and harsh in the silence that had accompanied her words. The sound made Felicity jump. She focused on her shoes – her favorite pair of panda flats – and tried to drum up the last dregs of her courage.

This plan was crazy. She knew that it was crazy, but it had to work, because her life depended on it. Her mother's life depended on it.

"Marriage," Oliver repeated.

"Yes."

Oliver had spent years honing his body into a weapon. He had learned how to use his bulk and naturally somber expression to his advantage, and used that knowledge when it was necessary - like now. He crossed the distance that separated him from Felicity Smoak and stepped so far into her personal space that she had to crane her head back to look at him.

She didn't move. She fixed him with the fiercest glare she could muster and squared her shoulders. Felicity would not let this man intimidate her; she would not forfeit her life, and the life of her mother, because she didn't have the backbone to hold her ground.

"You think you can just stroll into my office and blackmail me, Felicity?" Oliver's voice was a growl.

"No, but I hope I can."

"And what makes you brave enough to try? Why are you here?"

"Because I want to save my mother's life."

There were tears in her eyes. The translucent sheen of them brought Oliver back to the reality of the situation: this woman was obviously terrified, and desperate. The way she was looking at him now was familiar, because he had seen that same expression in the eyes of wild animals that had been backed into a corner.

Felicity Smoak was clearly on her last leg, and Oliver had a sinking suspicion that if he turned her down now – if this insane plan of hers didn't work – she'd give up.

"I know that we don't know each other, but believe me when I say that I don't want to die. I don't want my mother to die. And I am out of options. Please, Mr. Queen."

"Mr. Queen was my father."

"Right, but he died. I mean, he drowned. But you didn't. And I'm just going to stop talking now."

Just like that, Oliver's tried and true intimidation method fell flat. He let go of his glare and stepped away, tossing the folder of evidence down on the couch near him.

"Alright, Felicity. Say I agreed to this … ridiculous idea of yours. What would the terms be?"

"In exchange for your protection of myself and my mother, I'll destroy all of that," Felicity said, pointing at the discarded folder, "And any other evidence of your entanglement with the Bratva, for as long as the marriage stands."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Diggle interjected. He did not look happy about the conversation.

"Well, I'm a genius." There was no boasting in her tone. "And I could hack any system in this city from my tablet, in my sleep."

Diggle crossed his arms over his chest but said nothing.

"And the marriage?" Oliver prodded.

"Fake, of course. I'll forge the marriage certificate and any other necessary documents. You can draw up whatever pre-nup you want and I'll sign it, no questions asked. You can lock me away in a tower, for all I care, as long as I stay in the city."

"Sex?"

Oliver said it just to see what kind of reaction he could get, and he wasn't disappointed. She didn't blush, but she did fidget and shift her weight uncertainly from one foot to the other again. If he didn't know better, Oliver would think she was glaring at him again.

"Uh, between us? Yeah, that won't be happening. Ever."

"Oh?"

"But you can have sex with whoever you want," Felicity rushed to add. "I won't be going to the press screaming about infidelity, if that's what you're wondering. I don't care what you do, or who you do it with, as long as my mother is safe."

"And what is it you'll be doing, exactly?"

Felicity shot a wary glance at Digg before reaching into her purse and producing another manila folder, and a red USB drive.

"Compiling evidence against this man, and feeding it anonymously to the cops."

Oliver took the second folder. When he opened it, his mouth nearly fell open in surprise.

"Meet Angelo De Luca," Felicity started.

"De facto leader of the Italian mafia presence in America," Oliver finished. He found himself suddenly reevaluating the woman in front of him. "This is the man you're afraid of, the one you want me to protect you from?"

Felicity nodded.

"You do realize that you could be selling yourself into the modern equivalent of slavery, right? You have no idea what kind of person I am, Felicity. How do you know that I'm not just as bad as this man?"

"I don't," she admitted. "Call it a leap of faith, if you want. The point is that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get my mother away from him, and see him imprisoned for the rest of his life. But in order to do that, I need help – your help. I need your protection."

"For how long?"

"Five years, or until De Luca is behind bars. Whichever comes first. At which point, I will destroy those fake marriage documents and walk out of your life forever."

"Why does it have to be marriage?" Diggle asked. He had moved away from the door and now came to stand near them. "Can't Oliver provide protection some other way?"

"No, it has to be marriage," Felicity answered firmly. "I don't know how the Bratva works, but the Italian mafia only respects laws of property. And as a woman without a rank, I'm property. Mr. Que … Oliver may not be Italian, but he is a powerful leader in the Bratva, and they'll respect that. Or they'll be too afraid to challenge him, at any rate. Either way, marrying him will make me virtually untouchable."

"You've certainly given this a lot of thought," Diggle remarked. "And you seem to have more than a passing knowledge of the mafia, Italian or otherwise. Who is this man to you?"

Felicity huffed in displeasure.

Her eyes were burning and she was exhausted. Despite having driven almost non-stop, she hadn't been able to sleep more than three or four hours at a time since her panicked flight from Las Vegas.

All she really wanted was to be done, and to be free. She wanted to know what it was to live without fear again; above all, she wanted her mother, safe and close enough to drive her crazy.

"He's my father," Felicity eventually answered. She waved the memory stick she held through the air. "And this USB is full of information that I stole off of his computer before my mom helped me escape Las Vegas."

Oliver wondered if he was going crazy, because at that moment he felt driven to comfort the woman who had just (successfully) blackmailed him.

"I left my mom in Vegas with my psycho father, who knows that I'm gone by now, and I'm afraid that he's already killed my mom in retaliation." Felicity felt as though she was a doll, stuffed and stitched by hand, and now the seams were pulling apart.

She hadn't realized that she was afraid for her mother's life – any more so than had become usual – until she said the words aloud. The exhaustion and the fear were finally catching up with her, and a fresh wave of tears had started a silent exodus down her cheeks.

How much could she be expected to bear, she wondered?

Oliver felt a real surge of compassion and concern flood him as Felicity started to tremble in earnest.

"Please, Oliver," she begged. "I know that it's crazy and it doesn't make sense, but I need your help. I just want to save my mother. Isn't there anyone in your life you'd do anything for?"

Oliver opened his mouth to make a reply when Digg interrupted.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Digg didn't wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and stalked to the far end of the office.

"You can't seriously be considering this," he hissed when Oliver was in front of him.

"Diggle …"

"This woman could be anyone, Oliver. You heard her claim to be a genius computer hacker – she could have forged any of those documents."

"Maybe, but I don't think she did," Oliver replied. "Look at her, Diggle. She's exhausted and obviously terrified. As crazy as this might seem to us, she's smart, and she's done her homework. Not to mention she claims to have a skillset that we are sorely in need of."

Digg's expression didn't lighten. "If you do this, Oliver, you're asking this girl to get into some pretty dangerous stuff."

"I'd say she's already into some dangerous stuff. And we can protect her."

"How?"

Oliver didn't answer. His eyes traveled to the middle of his office, where Felicity was tracking the cityscape outside the window with her eyes. Diggle was right, and this was crazy.

He was crazy, because he was going to help this woman.

Oliver was not a spiritual man, but what else could he call what they were about to do, except a leap of faith?

Diggle grunted and shook his head. "You just got blackmailed into a fake marriage by a blonde with panda bears on her shoes, didn't you?"

Oliver glanced down at the shoes in question. They did indeed have panda bears on them.

Apparently, reality wasn't just stranger than fiction - it was in another dimension.

"Looks like it."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you might recognize this story, or at the least the premise for it, and that's because I posted a one-shot teaser for this story in my collection, Us Against Forever. I believe it's chapter two in that collection, and it's also called The Reluctant Queen. So if this seems familiar, that's probably why. Anyway, thank you all for the wonderful response to this! I'm glad that you are as excited to read it as I am to write it. I hope you like this chapter, and I look forward to hearing what you think!

Someone was screaming.

Well, not screaming, exactly - more like yelling enthusiastically. Felicity couldn't pick out any individual words, but she figured the sentiment was universal.

She flicked her eyes over her shoulder, to where John Diggle was standing. Purposely or not, the bodyguard had placed himself between her and the front door.

"Mother?" Felicity asked. "Angry girlfriend?"

Diggle gave her an appraising look. "Does it matter?"

She opened her mouth to answer, and then shut it with a barely audible snap. Despite what it must look like, and the situation that she had been forced into, Felicity didn't enjoy thinking that she might be upending any more lives than she already had. Oliver Queen was a businessman – whether he was in a boardroom or on a city street – and he had accepted the proposition she'd offered. She couldn't rationally be upset about that because of the very nature of its necessity, but she was distressed by the idea that there might be more players in this morbid drama than she'd allowed for.

Felicity could have said any of those things, but chose not to. Why would this man believe her? He certainly had no reason to, and the expression thinly veiled in his eyes told her that her words would be wasted anyway. John Diggle literally made his living from being suspicious and constantly on guard.

"No, I guess not," Felicity answered after a pause.

In truth, she wasn't in a position to let it matter. As long as Oliver kept up his end of the deal then it wasn't her problem.

The thought was a callous one, and she hated it; just like she hated that she'd left her mother alone in a parking garage on a dumpy side street of Vegas, and that she'd just bartered herself for services, as though she was a thing to be bought and sold.

Felicity hated everything about this, but her life, and her mother's life, hinged on whether or not she could make this plan work.

Had the stakes been any less, the tasks she was attempting to perform now would have been impossible.

A door opened somewhere deeper in the house, and then the yelling was moving inexorably closer.

A slight woman, thinner and slightly taller than Felicity, barreled into the foyer like a hurricane. She zeroed in on Felicity as if she was a hunter, and Felicity was her chosen meal.

Oliver appeared behind the woman just as she veritably dashed in Felicity's direction.

"Thea!"

For her part, Felicity took an automatic step backward and couldn't stop the small squeak of surprise that issued from her throat when she ran into a wall of hard flesh that could only be Oliver's bodyguard. Unable to retreat any further, she pulled her purse away from her side and positioned it against her stomach; a paltry excuse for a shield, or protection of any kind, but one couldn't be choosy when they were about to be eaten by a she-wolf.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Thea snarled.

"Nobody," Felicity blurted. "I mean, I'm not nobody, I'm someone, obviously, and so are you."

Thea – at least, that was what Felicity thought Oliver had called her – stopped short. Her brown eyes widened and she puffed in annoyance before folding her arms over her chest. Her brown hair, long and wavy, settled around her shoulders like a cloud. Felicity thought that she was beautiful; or she would have been, anyway, if she wasn't standing less than five feet away and looking ready to tear into her.

Belatedly, Felicity realized that she had seen this young woman in pictures and news articles when she was researching Oliver: her name was Thea Queen, and she was Oliver's little sister.

"Great, glad that we've gotten that out of the way," Thea sneered.

"Thea," Oliver said warningly.

Felicity licked her lips nervously and tried to put some more distance between her and the other woman. Her effort was undercut by the fact that Diggle had not moved from behind her.

Thea noticed her attempt to move and for the barest second her expression morphed into something that looked less like anger, and more like … well, Felicity wasn't certain. Confusion, maybe, or even pity; the idea that it was the latter option, that she had given Thea Queen any reason to pity her, incensed Felicity. Immediately she straightened her shoulders and cleared her face of any discernible expression.

No one would make her cower.

Behind her, Diggle felt the sudden urge to smile.

"I'm Felicity Smoak. And you are?"

"Don't you mean Felicity Queen? And you already know who I am."

Felicity sidestepped the sarcasm in Thea's tone – and her quip about Felicity's last name - and made sure to keep hers neutral. "I do," she affirmed, "But I was trying to be polite."

The censure in her words was more effective for their lack of sting. Thea seemed young, closer to Felicity's age then to her brother's, and she looked caught between being annoyed at being chastised, and ashamed of her behavior.

Both of those things were ignored in favor of an angry tirade that she turned to direct at her brother.

"This is unbelievable, Ollie. You are unbelievable! This is a new low, even for you. You blow off dinner with me, again, and then when you finally show up it's to announce that you have a wife that you've just conveniently forgotten to mention!"

Felicity had been laid low by circumstance. The choices and situations that had driven her into Oliver Queen's office were not of her making, but she was powerless to escape them all the same; she had done much the same as Thea was doing now when she'd learned of the web that had ensnared her.

Underneath the fear and desperation; underneath the calculating and sometimes harsh persona that she might have to occasionally present; Felicity was still the same person at heart, and the same person that her mother had raised. She was soft, and, in some ways, still the vulnerable young woman that Thea Queen seemed to be.

Perhaps it was those realizations that drove her to action; perhaps it was the naked hurt and confusion in Thea's face, or the guilt that stood so starkly in Oliver's eyes that it was a wonder no one else seemed to notice it.

Whatever the reason, Felicity found herself advancing on Thea. She took a small handful of steps until the movement caught the other woman's attention, and didn't stop until Thea had turned her attention back to her.

Her words were dangerous and foolhardy, but Felicity spoke them anyway, because the underlying truth of her had not changed: she cared, and she was not someone who hurt other people needlessly.

Thea Queen was obviously hurt.

"It's not Oliver's fault," Felicity stated cautiously. "And it's not what you think."

Her words were greeted by silence.

"What do you -?"

Thea's question was cut off by Oliver's hand on her shoulder and a very pointed gaze.

"Now is not the time, Thea." His tone brooked no argument.

Thea tried anyway. "She clearly has something to say, Ollie."

"She's also spent the last seventy-two hours driving across the country, Thea. Whatever it is, it can wait."

"You can't just …"

"Thea." Oliver's tone was flat.

"Fine!" Thea acquiesced, throwing up her hands. Then, looking deliberately at Felicity, and then Oliver, "But this is not over."

Thea's footfalls out of the room were not as fast, but no less angry, than the ones that had brought her into the foyer. The moment she was out of sight all of the air escaped Felicity's lungs as if from a popped balloon; her shoulders sagged, and she was acutely aware of a vicious pounding behind her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Had she been in a better state of mind, it would have occurred to Felicity to be surprised that the question had come from Oliver, and hinted at genuine concern.

That wasn't the case. "Oh, this is just my 'about to hack face'. Are there going to be any other family members for me to fend off in the next several hours, because I have to be honest, I don't think I have it in me to do that again."

"I apologize for my sister's behavior," Oliver began. "She can be a little hotheaded, and I'm afraid I picked a bad time to -."

"Drop a fake sister-in-law that she's never heard of in her lap?" Felicity finished for him. "I don't think there's a right time for that."

Oliver surveyed the woman in his foyer. The island had taught him a lot about the limits of the human body and consciousness, and he could tell by looking at Felicity that she was teetering near the edge of hers. She wasn't lying when she said she didn't have it in her to face another angry family member; Oliver doubted that she had it in her to do much of anything at the moment.

Still, he could admit – privately – that he admired her resolve.

"What would you have told her?"

"What?"

"Thea. What would you have told her, if I hadn't interrupted?"

"Oh. Only that you haven't done anything wrong, and that I'm not some flavor of the week trying to take advantage of her brother."

"Or the Queen family fortune," Oliver added.

"That's also true, but if you think that was her main reason for being angry, then you weren't paying attention."

Stunned, Oliver took a step forward and opened his mouth to shoot off a reply.

"Oliver." Diggle's voice was measured and firm, and it was the first time he'd spoken since Thea's arrival and subsequent departure.

Oliver snapped his mouth shut in silent acknowledgement. Diggle was just as observant as he was, and had undoubtedly come to the same conclusion over Felicity's state of near collapse. Whatever Diggle thought of the situation, and Oliver's agreement to go along with it, he was a naturally considerate person.

"We have a lot to talk about," he stated. "But that can wait until tomorrow. I'll show you to your room."

Oliver headed for the stairs and then stopped when another thought occurred to him.

He turned to Digg. "Raisa has a plate for you in the kitchen."

Diggle knew him well enough to pick up on the smile that wasn't quite there. The other man pursed his lips in his own version of a not-smile and nodded once before leaving.

Oliver had already turned and resumed his trek to the stairs, so he missed the way Felicity's brow furrowed at the exchange.

He didn't speak as he led Felicity down the mansion's wide halls. Her footsteps dragged across the carpet, an audible reminder of the exhaustion that must be eating away at her. Oliver slowed his pace. Thea was always getting on him about how fast he walked and how impossible it was for anyone who wasn't six feet tall to keep up with him.

Oliver had used the drive home to contemplate some of the more easily solved predicaments of this situation. The sleeping arrangements had been one of the first issues he'd resolved.

He stepped into the empty bedroom next to his. Felicity trudged in behind him.

"This will be your room," he informed her. "The en-suite bathroom is over there. It should be stocked with fresh towels."

Felicity nodded. She scanned the room and briefly entertained the idea of telling him how beautiful it was, but Felicity wasn't certain that she had the energy to carry on a conversation. She was well and truly drained.

Then she caught sight of another door, set into the wall opposite the bed. It was standing open.

"Where does that go?"

"My room."

He'd said the words casually, but he watched her closely for a reaction. The only one she gave was the brush of her shoes over the carpet as she moved around him and closed the door.

Oliver actually smirked when he heard the deadbolt click into place.

"Is that really necessary?" He couldn't resist.

The gravity behind her answer took all the humor out of him. "Better safe than sorry."

An irrational anger seized him. Oliver did not fool himself into thinking that he was someone else: he was a hard man, and he'd done things over the years that still kept him awake at night; his hands were not clean. Despite those things, he was not cruel, and he did not tolerate the cruelty of others.

He was, at heart, a protector - a guardian.

Something, he was being given to understand, that Felicity Smoak had not had the benefit of.

"That door only locks from this side," Oliver informed her. "The same goes for your bedroom door. Raisa has a set of keys if you lock yourself out."

"Okay." Felicity nodded.

Oliver was halfway out of her room when he turned back to address her. "Felicity?"

"Hmm?"

She looked at him from behind glasses that had started to slip down her nose; her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, but the ends were curled and rested on one shoulder; her lips, painted magenta, offset the pale cream of her blouse. Panda bears smiled at him from the tops of her shoes.

Everything about Felicity was innocuous – pleasant, even. This was clearly not the life and situation that she had been born into or brought up in, so why was she in it now? And why, for the love of all things sane, had Oliver ever let her blackmail him into this scheme?

"We made a deal: your technical skills, for my protection."

"I know. So?" Felicity replied.

"So, I never said I'd only protect you from your father."

That was not what she'd been expecting to hear. "Oh."

Oliver was not a man of many words, but he found himself speaking again anyway. "I don't know where you've been, Felicity, but you're here now. And here is safe."

Tears sprang to her eyes. She had no idea who this man was, not really, and that hadn't stopped her from barging into his office and attempting to blackmail him into pretending to be her husband. She had cajoled him, begged him, and threatened him (albeit in a rather roundabout way); yet, for whatever reason, Oliver Queen had agreed to help her – a woman he didn't know, and had every reason to mistrust. They had made a deal. A business transaction had taken place only hours ago, and the only questions that Oliver had asked pertained directly to what they were attempting to pull off.

Now, sequestered in the bedroom next to his in his family's mansion, he was offering her something that she'd never expected: kindness.

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I … uh …"

Oliver grabbed her doorknob. "Don't forget to lock it."

Then he pulled the door closed and disappeared down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a few of you have asked about the update schedule for this work. The truth is that I tend to update whenever/as soon as a chapter is finished and edited. I generally do my best to update twice a week, but sometimes I'm so busy that I only manage to do it once a week, and once a chapter is finished I want to get it to you guys asap. So yeah - there's really not an update schedule for this. Anyway, thank you for your reviews/alerts/favorites/follows, they mean the world to me!

He had expected something like this from her, and therefore was not surprised when she ambushed him at the bottom of the stairs the next morning. Thea was rash and impulsive, certainly, but she was also predictable. Well, mostly predictable, especially in the ways she dealt with arguments that she deemed unfinished.

"Morning, Speedy," Oliver greeted. He swept passed his sister, who had one hand on the banister, and didn't bother to glance behind him.

Sure enough, Thea appeared at his elbow. She was scowling. The glare was rendered less effective by the way she was crow hopping in an attempt to get in front of him and cut him off.

"Don't give me that crap, Ollie. I'm not letting you off the hook, and we're not done talking about this. Where's your wife?"

Thea practically spit the word at him. Oliver ignored the venom in it. "Sleeping."

Oliver didn't stop his trek to the kitchen. He had no way of knowing if Felicity was actually sleeping, and he hadn't stopped to check, but it seemed like a fair assumption given her state the previous evening. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if no one saw her at all that day; even if she didn't sleep for the next twenty-four hours, it wouldn't be so hard to believe that she might not want to come out of that room at all.

_Not that room_ , Oliver corrected himself, _her room. Because she lives here now, too_.

_What the hell are you doing, Queen?_

"So you're seriously going with this?" Thea challenged. She used his momentary distraction over the absurdity of the situation to finally plant herself in front of him and stop him with a hand to his chest. "You really expect me to believe that you got married and didn't tell anyone?"

"When did I say I didn't tell anyone?"

Thea opened her mouth, furrowed her brow, and closed it again. Then, darkly, "Did mom know?"

"Thea …"

"Is this one of those problems mom thought could be solved with money? Did she pay this woman to disappear? Or did you get her pregnant and then send her across the world, so that no one would ever find out?"

Oliver clenched his jaw. The accusations hurt, especially falling from his sister's mouth as they did; there had been a time when Thea had thought he could do no wrong, or at least that there was not a wrong that he couldn't fix. His little sister had believed in him, once, and believed in the underlying decency of his character. No matter how the media portrayed him, or what insults a bitter ex threw at him, Thea had always defended him.

Those days appeared to be at an end. Oliver didn't blame her – he was not a man that deserved to be defended – but it stung him to realize that his baby sister and last living family member viewed him in such a harsh light.

"None of those things are true," he ground out. "And when exactly would I have had time to get anyone pregnant?"

At the same time, he made a mental note to ask Felicity whether or not she had children. He hadn't thought to ask before, and even if he had he knew himself well enough to know that he would have dismissed the question as unimportant. Now, with Thea staring him down and her questions ringing in his ears, Oliver chided himself for his stupidity. Thea's first thought – well, one of them anyway – had been that Oliver got Felicity pregnant and then tried to cover it up; the media would undoubtedly jump to the same conclusion. What other reason could there be for a member of Starling City's rich and powerful to suddenly announce a previously unheard of marriage?

"Before the island," Thea answered without missing a beat. "When you were known more for bar and model hopping with Tommy than being the CEO of a family company."

Oliver was irritated now. He clenched one of his hands into a fist and concentrated on the bite of his fingernails into his palm. He took a deep breath and then let it out, unfurling his fist at the same time. Instead, he rubbed his thumb up and down the side of his pointer finger.

"We're done with this conversation, Thea. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to at least get a cup of coffee before I'm late."

He dropped a quick kiss on his sister's cheek and then stepped around her.

"Did mom know?" Thea asked again.

Oliver paused mid-step. He didn't turn around; he didn't need to, to know what expression Thea was wearing. The edge had gone out of her voice enough to expose the hurt that lurked underneath.

His sister was not happy with the situation in general, but her real problem existed in the idea that Moira Queen had known about this secret wife. What Thea really cared about was whether or not this had been another secret that Oliver had shared with their mother, and if that secret had been kept from her.

There was a chance – a good chance, really – that saying that the Queen matriarch had known about the situation would lend credence to the lie. No one would question it if Oliver said that his mother had known; she was his mother, why wouldn't she have known? Better still, anyone who knew the Queen family, and had known his mother, would have no problem believing exactly what Thea seemed to: that Moira had paid Felicity to disappear. Rationally, this lie would have been the easiest to tell, because Moira wasn't there to contradict it, and it would have made sense from a logistical standpoint.

"No," Oliver said with an air of finality. "Mom had no idea."

Oliver walked away. He had made a deal with Felicity, and he would honor that deal: he would lie for her, and with her, and he would protect her; he'd even help her save her mother, if she wanted him to and there was conceivably a way that he could. He would not, however, break his sister's heart again to further someone else's agenda.

Diggle stepped into the kitchen just as Oliver was pouring coffee into a travel mug.

"There a reason I had to come in here looking for you?"

"Thea," Oliver said by way of explanation.

Raisa swooped in on them then. She was humming, but stopped immediately to smile at them.

"Good morning, Mister Oliver," she greeted. "Mister John. May I fix you a plate?"

"Sorry, Raisa, we're late as it is," Oliver answered. His stomach grumbled as if to punctuate just how sorry he was.

Raisa clucked her tongue at them. "That is no good, Mister Oliver." She clasped a hand over one of Diggle's large biceps and gave it a sad squeeze. "You must keep up your strength."

Oliver arched an eyebrow and Diggle laughed. The humor of watching Raisa lament about how they weren't "keeping up their strength" while trying to squeeze a bicep that was nearly as big as her head wasn't lost on either of them.

"We'll get an early lunch," Oliver told her.

"Yes, good, good," Raisa replied. She nodded several times and then began herding them to the door. "Now you must go, Mister Oliver. Do not be late."

Oliver started to protest and point out that he'd left his coffee on the counter when Raisa slapped it into his open palm. She smiled at him once, patted the back of his hand, and then veritably shoved them through the doorway.

Diggle was smirking as they made their way to the town car.

"What are the odds I could get Raisa to come work for me?" he asked.

"She already has a job."

"Scared I'll make her a better offer?"

"Hardly. Raisa'd never leave, she's family. Besides, what would Lyla say?"

"Oh, I dunno. Something along the lines of 'thank you so much, baby, now I'll never have to cook again', I'd imagine."

"I thought Lyla enjoyed cooking?" Oliver retorted as he slid into the back seat of the car.

Diggle waited until he was in the driver's seat to answer. "She does, but not enough to turn down Raisa's help. Or her food. Her filet mignon last night was on point."

"I'm sure." Oliver hadn't had the opportunity to try any of it. After everything that had happened, by the time he'd been able to spare ten minutes to eat it was so late and he was so preoccupied that his appetite had been non-existent.

"So what was Thea on you about so early?"

Oliver glared at his friend in the rearview mirror. "What do you think?"

"And how did that go?"

"Fine, if you don't mind being accused of getting some girl pregnant and then plying her with money until she disappears."

Digg nodded but stayed silent. Oliver used the lapse in conversation to mentally go over his to-do list for the day and sip slowly from his coffee mug.

"That's how the media is going to spin this, you know," Diggle eventually said.

"Well I know that now, yes," Oliver replied. "If that's what my own sister thinks then I'm sure the media won't be far behind. I'll be lucky if that's the only spinning the media does."

"Or Thea," Diggle supplied. "Your sister is smart, and I don't know about the Smoak girl, but you suck at lying, Oliver. How long do you think it'll take Thea to figure out that something's not quite right here? I hate to sound dramatic, man, but this has disaster written all over it."

"I know that," Oliver snapped.

"Then I gotta ask, Oliver. Why are you doing this? I know you want to help this woman, but surely there's some other way you can do that?"

Oliver didn't respond. He turned his gaze out the window and watched the business district slide by. Everything Diggle was saying made sense, and the man had an irritating knack for being right about more things than wrong; everything about the situation screamed "time bomb", and yet he was choosing to ignore that warning.

Why?

He pictured a petite blonde woman in glasses and silly shoes standing in the middle of his office. He saw again the red around her eyes and the way her body had trembled even as she blackmailed him with a straight face; the way that she had asked plainly that Diggle not shoot her, and the way she'd tried to retreat from Thea's charging form.

Felicity Smoak had fled Las Vegas in a haze of fear and driven herself into the belly of a beast a thousand miles away. She had marooned herself in a strange city, armed with only a foolhardy plan that she had no guarantee would work and a dossier full of illegally gathered information. She was alone, and vulnerable, and terrified for her life – and the life of a mother that might already be dead.

That's why Oliver was doing this: because Starling City was landlocked and civilized, but it was Felicity's island. That fear that seemed to permeate her bones and exhaust her without effort was the same fear that Oliver had carried around that first year on the island; it was the fear of knowing that the task at hand was impossible to perform, and that it had to be done anyway.

Oliver had only survived Lian Yu because of Yao Fei; his mentor had long since passed, but Oliver couldn't help feeling that going along with Felicity Smoak's plan – helping her at a time when such help could be the difference between life and death – was the only real way he could honor the other man's memory. What better way to honor one life, he thought, than to save another?

Not that he'd done anything remotely close to saving Felicity's life. No, she seemed to be doing that all on her own, and doing it just fine.

After what felt like a huge time lapse, Oliver answered the question that Digg had posed.

"I understand her fear, Diggle. I lived it. And it wears on you, always feeling like something or someone is coming to get you, and wondering if today will be the last time you wake up. It's like … a lead weight on your shoulders and it drags at you, until eventually moving just feels impossible, and you can't remember why you were trying to in the first place."

Oliver cleared his throat and tugged uncomfortably at his tie. He was not the type to wax philosophical, and he played everything about the island close to the vest. He was mildly embarrassed by the barrage of words and thoughts that had just tumbled from his mouth.

"Okay," Diggle said.

"Okay?"

"Hey man, I get it. Afghanistan wasn't exactly a walk in the park. It's your life, and if you're willing to go along with this to help this woman, then so am I."

Oliver nodded. "Thank you."

In reality, he knew that Diggle was right and that the most probable outcome was complete disaster. Oliver just hoped that, when all was said and done, he hadn't ruined things past the point of saving. Especially where Thea was concerned, because he wasn't certain how many more hits their relationship could take and survive.

The morning was spent in meetings. Oliver was so entrenched in corporate dealings and political maneuvers that he forgot all about the woman playing his fake wife, and his sister's (justified) anger.

He would have forgotten lunch, too, if Diggle hadn't kept his word to Raisa and shown up with a bag from Big Belly Burgers at half past eleven.

"So," Digg started after sipping at his soda. "Making a trip to the Queen family vault after work? Or do I need to stop by the jewelers on the way home?"

Oliver furrowed his brows. "What?"

"Last time I checked, married people wore rings," Diggle retorted, holding up his left hand to draw Oliver's attention to the gold band there. He almost laughed at the consternation on his friend's face. "You didn't even think about that, did you?"

Oliver's only response was a glare.

"Man, if this marriage was real, that's the kinda shit that'll get you sleepin' on the couch for a month."

"It's been twenty-four hours, Digg. Excuse me if I haven't thought of everything yet."

For some reason, the reminder that he would indeed need to pick up a ring for Felicity reminded him of something else he needed to do. He'd had the idea last night, after he'd left Felicity for the night.

Oliver pulled out his phone and then scrolled through his contacts list until he arrived at the right name.

She answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey," Oliver greeted. "I've got a job for you."

* * *

 

For the first time since her days as a rebellious teenager, Felicity slept until early afternoon. Well, it was less like sleeping and more like experiencing a mini-coma, because she didn't so much as shift in her sleep. In fact, she might have slept through an entire day, if it hadn't been for Raisa.

Felicity woke to insistent knocking at a little after one in the afternoon. Her head shot up from the pillow as if it was spring loaded; she held her breath for a moment, knowing that a sound had woken her, but not what the sound had actually been or where it came from.

Raisa knocked again. Felicity's automatic response was to half-slide, half-fall out of the bed and scramble to unlock the door. When she pulled it open her nose was assaulted with a positively delicious array of scents.

Raisa was smiling. "I know you had long night, Mrs. Queen, but you must eat now."

Felicity blinked owlishly. Raisa was already partway over the threshold, hands weighed down by a polished silver platter, and so she had no choice but to step back.

Mrs. Queen? Oh!

"Your suitcases are in the hall, I gave strict orders that you were not to be disturbed, but now you must really eat. Can I bring you anything else, Mrs. Queen?"

Felicity was dumbfounded for a second. The woman in front of her was smiling kindly, and didn't seem in the least bit curious – or confused – as to why her door had been locked, or why she wasn't in Oliver's room, or even why the door adjoining their rooms was locked (if she'd even noticed); she was simply standing there, smiling at Felicity as if she was an old friend and there was nothing remotely odd about the situation.

In a way, it was reassuring. The less questions that were asked, the less Felicity had to answer – and lie.

"Uh, I'm sorry," Felicity stammered. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Raisa, Mrs. Queen."

"Thank you, Raisa, for the food and, for, well, everything. But you really don't need to call me Mrs. Queen. Please, call me Felicity."

Raisa nodded and headed for the door. "Of course, Miss Felicity."

Felicity protested. "Oh, uh, no, just … just Felicity, please."

"Can I get you anything else, Miss Felicity?"

She opened her mouth to correct Raisa again and then thought better of it. She just shook her head and smiled.

"No, thank you."

When the maid – housekeeper? Cook? – Raisa had left, Felicity transferred the tray to the bed and climbed onto the mattress. She tucked her feet underneath her and then studied her new room as she ate.

The space was huge. The en-suite bathroom was to her right; also on the right, the room bottlenecked into a short hallway that led to the door. Directly across from her was the door that connected her room to Oliver's, and a large television that was mounted to the wall; beneath the television, a dresser in dark wood ran almost the length of the wall; to her left there was a large bay window and a beautifully crafted, if simple, writing desk. A nightstand stood on either side of the (ridiculously large) bed. Her glasses, tablet, and purse took up the surface area of one of the stands.

Overall, it was beautiful. Every piece of furniture spoke of elegance and superior quality, and yet it was understated enough that it didn't feel gaudy. There was a slight hotel room air to it, but Felicity figured that had more to do with the fact that it wasn't regularly used.

When she was full – which did not coincide with an empty plate, because there was probably enough food on the tray to feed a small house party – Felicity retrieved her suitcases. She'd rolled them into the middle of the room when it occurred to her that her mother had been one of the last people to touch the luggage. Her breath left her in a painful rush then.

That was a battle to be dealt with after a shower, Felicity decided. She left the suitcases in the middle of the room and moved into the bathroom.

Everything was pale marble and burnished bronze, and beautiful. Felicity opened the cupboards curiously and found the pile of fresh towels Oliver had mentioned the night before. After some more snooping, she realized that, while towels weren't a problem – or soaps, for that matter – there wasn't a bottle of hair product to be seen.

Well.

Felicity was contemplating her odds of finding Raisa in a mansion that she had no idea how to navigate when her eyes fell on the luggage in the middle of the room. Had it been up to Felicity, she probably would have fled Vegas with the clothes on her back and a pile of electronics, and nothing else. Even in her fear, Donna had been stuck in mom mode: she'd insisted that Felicity pack at least a suitcase. When Felicity had argued about the dangers of trying to sneak a suitcase out unnoticed – let alone themselves – Donna had insisted that she would handle it.

Not only had Donna Smoak smuggled one of her daughter's suitcases out of a Mafioso's heavily guarded stronghold, she'd snuck out two.

What are the odds, Felicity wondered as she crossed to the luggage, that she thought to grab some toiletries?

She laid the suitcase that she hadn't packed on its side and unzipped it. The first thing she noticed when she opened it was a single piece of lined paper. Her mother had jotted a hasty note across it:

_You never know!_

_Love you, baby._

With the note still in hand, Felicity pulled the first piece of clothing out: it was one of her favorite dresses, the red one with the cut out over the chest. She set that aside and pulled out one of her beloved pencil skirts. She started smiling as she stared at the clothing. Her mother had packed all of her nice skirts, blouses and dresses; it wasn't until she got to the bottom, where she found several pairs of her best heels crammed in amongst each other, that Felicity started laughing.

Shoved hastily into the insole of one of her heels was a small, brightly colored make-up bag; its mate hid two unmarked travel sized bottles of shimmery liquid.

When she liberated the shoes of their cargo and popped open the top of one of the bottles, Felicity found herself crying despite her smile: it was filled with her mother's shampoo.

Her mother was a thousand miles away and she had still found a way to take care of her little girl.

Felicity laid the note lovingly on the writing desk and then took a shower, where she used as little of the shampoo and conditioner as she could get away with. When she dressed some thirty minutes later, she chose the red dress with the cutout and the heels that had hidden the toiletries.

Thus, armored in her mother's strength as she was, Felicity squared her shoulders and ventured out into her new world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was absolutely determined to get this out today. I'm sorry that it took so long, I've had my hands full with finals the last few weeks. Thank you guys for the great response to this!

Felicity was standing alone in the grass. Every so often a light breeze would kick up and carry the scent of the pine trees that lined the property to her; sometimes, though, it would catch in her hair and bring her the scent of her mother's shampoo instead. The mixture was an interesting one that made her smile, because she couldn't picture Donna anywhere where the trees outnumbered the buildings. Her mother was not a nature person.

She wasn't thinking about her mother, though, not really. Felicity was standing barefoot in the grass, heels held in one hand, and thinking about Thea Queen. The young woman had been in the kitchen when Felicity had finally found it – she was seriously considering asking Oliver for a map of the house and grounds – and the moment that she had set eyes on Felicity everything about her had changed. Where before her expression had been calm, if a little contemplative, it had turned into a sneer and she'd bitten out a greeting that sounded for all the world as if it was an insult. In fact, if Thea's tone hadn't been enough of a jab, the way that she had addressed Felicity as "Mrs. Queen" was.

Felicity's initial reaction had been to fire off a snarky retort, but Thea had disappeared before her brain could supply her with one. The short, uncomfortable moment had driven Felicity from the house and out onto the lawn in an attempt to escape the hostility that she felt still clung to the room; a ridiculous notion, of course, because emotions and words were ephemeral, but the echo of them had not sat well with Felicity.

She'd been angry when she first stepped foot in the grass. Angry, and maybe even self-pitying, if she had to be honest – her situation was hard enough to handle as it was, without the added difficulty of facing thinly veiled animosity from Oliver's sister. Those thoughts had lasted all of five minutes. The first time a breeze had picked up and Felicity had smelled her mother's shampoo again, she'd had an epiphany about the way Thea had addressed her.

Felicity hadn't asked and no one had volunteered the information, but she had gathered that the former Mrs. Queen – Oliver's mother – was no longer in the picture. Whatever the reason was for that, she couldn't imagine that it felt good to not only have a stranger dropped into the middle of their lives, but then also have that stranger be addressed the same way that their mother had been. There was every possibility that the words "Mrs. Queen" had not been uttered again until they'd been used in conjunction with Felicity. What would I feel, Felicity asked herself as she stared out at the trees, if my mother was gone and I had to hear someone else called "Mrs. Smoak"?

Felicity's anger at Thea had cooled considerably after that. She didn't know Oliver's sister, but she was willing to bet that Thea was hurting. Well, Felicity could sympathize with being in pain, even if she had no idea why the other woman was or what had brought it on. None of those things really mattered, though, because pain was a universal language.

"Hello."

Felicity startled. She spun around quickly and her bare heel made a sound against the grass that would have been funny if she hadn't been so full of adrenaline. At the same time, she shifted the hand that held her high heels so that it fell in front of her instead of at her side.

Oliver stood behind her. His eyes flickered down to her hand and the shoes that were now between them, but he didn't say anything.

"Hi," Felicity said finally. "I didn't hear you come up behind me."

He studied her for a long moment without making a reply. His gaze was direct but not unkind, and for some reason it made her want to fidget. Oliver Queen was a handsome man. Good looks aside, he was also an intimidating man and the way that he was looking at her now made Felicity feel as though all of her secrets were free for the taking. There was no expectation in his eyes, no silent goading for her to fill the silence or give him something of herself. Oliver simply stood there and watched her.

That made Felicity nervous. She understood expectation; she understood information exchanges and haggling deals and silent (and verbal) reminders about how vulnerable her position was. What she didn't understand was being studied, and feeling as though someone was actually seeing her - as though she was being looked at, and not through.

She blurted the first thing that came to mind. "I want to tell Thea."

Oliver arched a brow. "She doesn't know about my position in the Bratva. And she's not going to know."

The words were firm and straightforward. They made Felicity relax slightly because she understood them to be an order. Not that she enjoyed being ordered around, or letting people think that she could be – but it was something that she was familiar with. Oliver wasn't threatening, but he was making it very clear that she was not allowed to tell his sister anything about the Bratva, and he was a man who was obviously accustomed to being obeyed.

On the other hand, he hadn't exactly shot her down, either.

"Then we don't mention that part," Felicity answered. "Don't tell her why I need help, or who from. Just that I need help, and that my life isn't the only one on the line."

"Why?"

Felicity shifted her weight from one foot to the other and let her shoe-laden hand fall back to her side.

"Because she's upset, and she's your sister. If I'm going to be here a while, I don't want to spend my days hiding from your sister and her verbal lashings, if it's all the same to you. I have enough to deal with as it is."

Oliver took a step toward her. His face had been clear before, devoid of any but the most placid expression, and at the words "verbal lashings" it had darkened into something else. Irritation, maybe, or anger; Felicity didn't have a working understanding of him yet, and so could not place it.

"What did she say?" Oliver queried. Well, demanded was probably closer to the truth.

Felicity pulled herself up a little higher and straightened her spine. "Nothing important," she responded coolly.

Oliver took another step toward her. He was close enough now that Felicity could have reached out and touched his arm. She didn't move and made herself return that unnerving gaze of his.

"How do you know she's trustworthy?" Oliver challenged. "How do you know that she won't immediately run to the media, or someone else, and sell your secret to the highest bidder?"

Felicity faltered. She didn't know the answer to that question, of course, and now that Oliver had verbalized it she realized how dangerous the idea was. They couldn't tell Thea. Not only would telling Thea put Felicity in even more danger, it would put Thea in danger as well; hurting her feelings was the lesser of two evils.

That didn't make Felicity feel any better about it.

"Would she?" Felicity turned the question back on him. "She's your sister. Would you trust her with the information?"

Oliver hesitated. "I don't know. Thea has a pure heart, but she's young and rash, and she's been known to make more than one bad decision when she's upset. We haven't had the best year."

Felicity sighed and felt her shoulders sag. What the hell was she doing? This situation was crazy, and her plan was crazy, and the odds that it would actually work didn't even bear thinking about. She was throwing a huge monkey wrench in Oliver's life, and Thea's life, and, really, what the hell was she doing?

"This isn't me," Felicity said to the grass. "This isn't who I am."

She wasn't talking to Oliver, but something about the fact that he didn't respond irritated her. Felicity raised her head and didn't know if she wanted to yell at him, or beg him to understand.

"This isn't me," Felicity said again. Her tone bordered on a desperate sort of pleading, much as it had the other night when she'd tried to blackmail him. Oliver watched her silently. "I know that must sound crazy, because you don't know me and I tried to blackmail you, but this isn't what I do. I'm not this person, not really, but I have to be because my mother's life depends on it. My life is a disaster because other people have made it that way and I'm doing my best to fix it, but I'm still the person my mother raised me to be, and I don't hurt people. But I have to save my mom."

She wasn't crying, but the sheen of tears in her eyes made them seem luminescent behind her dark glasses. Spots of color had risen to her cheeks and dusted over her nose. Felicity was not a big person, but the only word that came to Oliver's mind as he looked at her was fierce. They were standing outside, in the grass and open air, and there wasn't a corner to be seen for miles; still, she reminded Oliver strongly of a wild cat that had been backed into a corner and was fighting to escape.

"I'm going to help you with that, Felicity. C'mon," He tipped his head in the direction of the mansion.

Felicity took a deep breath to calm herself and nodded. Oliver waited for her to pull even with him before he started walking, only for her to stop when they hit the pavement to slip her shoes back on.

Oliver stepped closer to her side when she had one shoe on and held one arm slightly away from his body in silent invitation. Felicity barely hesitated before reaching out and latching a hand around his bicep so that she could balance on one foot and finish securing the other shoe. She swallowed her initial remark about just how solid that bicep was and let go of it quickly when she was done.

Oliver waited until they were in the kitchen and he'd made sure that they were alone before speaking again. "You're gonna need this."

Felicity glanced down at his outstretched hand to see that he held a small box covered in black velvet. Her throat went dry.

"Oh. Uh, I … I don't …"

"We're going to have to keep up appearances," Oliver said over her stammering. "And, as Diggle so kindly reminded me today, married people wear rings."

He had her there. Felicity took the box wordlessly and popped open the lid; her mouth flexed into the shape of an exaggerated "O".

"Wow," she breathed. "Uh, this … I'm pretty sure this is so expensive I shouldn't even be looking at it."

The ring was exquisitely made. The center diamond was large and emerald cut, and at least one carat (but probably closer to two); channel set diamonds dipped halfway down the band. The piece of jewelry had been polished to a high shine, and sparkled as it caught the light.

"I can't wear this. What if something happens to it?" Felicity protested. "Or, God forbid, I lose it?"

Oliver shrugged. "It's insured."

She scoffed and threw her head back to glare at him. It was a knee jerk reaction, an unthinking response to such a flippant answer, and Oliver raised his eyebrows at her. She could be mistaken, but for a second she even thought she might have seen a smile.

Felicity was starting to see why no one else seemed to realize that Starling City's prodigal son was actually a high ranking member of the mafia: he presented himself more as an idle playboy with too much money, rather than someone who could conceivably work for the Bratva.

She had to give it to him: the deception was clever, and easy to pull off when the media did most of the work for him.

Felicity slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand and then held it up so that the ring faced him. "Thank you. I promise not to lose it."

They were standing next to the kitchen island. Felicity's back was to the door and she'd just lowered her hand when someone spoke up behind her.

"Lose what?"

Felicity squeaked – actually squeaked – and spun around to face the door with both hands clasped to her chest. She wobbled unsteadily as she tried to regain her equilibrium and then nearly stopped breathing when a wide hand steadied her by settling into the small of her back.

The woman apologized quickly. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Ollie said this was where you'd be."

"Felicity, this is Sara Lance. Sara, this is Felicity."

"Hi," Sara said with a bright smile. She stepped close enough to shake Felicity's hand.

"Hello," Felicity answered when she managed to find her voice.

Sara Lance was beautiful. Unfairly so, even: her blonde hair was long and effortlessly wavy and when she smiled it revealed a dimple in her chin. A light coating of freckles and blue eyes added to the mix, and Sara was easily what her mom would call a knockout.

"I get the impression that you don't like to be snuck up on, Felicity."

"It's definitely on my list of things I don't enjoy," she answered.

"Think I can help you with that." Sara smiled warmly.

"I've asked Sara to be your bodyguard." Oliver's voice was quiet as it drifted over her shoulder.

Felicity was mildly irritated with herself for focusing on that voice, and the hand that still rested against her back, rather than what was actually being said. Her brain kept trying to get stuck on the details – the knowledge that if she took a single step backward she'd collide with his chest – instead of the bigger picture.

"Bodyguard," she repeated dumbly. Then, "Wait, what? You're here to be my bodyguard?"

"Yep," Sara replied, popping the last consonant. She walked over to the end of the kitchen island and leaned over, placing her elbow on the marble top and then dropping her chin into her hand. "Whaddaya say? Partners in crime?"

Felicity didn't see the pointed look Oliver shot at Sara, but she did see Sara grin widely in response. She was still so bewildered she didn't know what to say.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable with a woman as a bodyguard," Oliver explained.

Her brain finally caught up with the situation. Felicity moved away from Oliver and turned so that she could look at both him and Sara (and she kept the kitchen door in her peripheral vision).

"I can't have a bodyguard."

"And yet," Oliver retorted dryly, "You do."

"Remember all those things we just talked about?" Felicity prodded. She was trying to be appropriately vague and still reference the conversation they'd had on the grass. "Those concerns are true for people other than your sister."

Oliver stuffed a hand in his pocket. The look he gave Felicity was something close to a smirk. "Sara knows," he said nonchalantly.

Felicity felt her eyes go wide. She stared at Oliver for a second and then cut her gaze quickly to Sara. The other woman wiggled her fingers in a silly approximation of a wave and grinned.

"Knows what?" Felicity asked. The question was pointless because she already knew the answer.

"Everything."

Felicity didn't move. She stood still and felt the blood as it rushed through her body and pooled in her fingertips, and the adrenaline that heated her veins.

"You told her?" Felicity's voice was monotone.

"Yes."

"Without talking to me about it first?"

Oliver tipped his head slightly in a confused sort of disbelief. Felicity didn't take her eyes off of him long enough to notice the look that Sara directed at him: you're in the shit now, buddy, it said.

"Are you angry?" Oliver wasn't taunting her. He genuinely wanted to make sure that he was reading the situation correctly.

"Angry? Oliver, you just told me that it would be dangerous to tell Thea and then I turn around and find out that you not only told Sara – who I've never met – you did so without even talking to me!"

"I trust Sara."

"I don't!" Felicity exploded. She advanced on him in the heat of her anger. "Why would I trust someone I've never met when I barely trust you?"

"Uh, what's going on?" A new voice interrupted.

Felicity pressed her lips into a thin line so that she wouldn't snap a thoughtless response. She narrowed her eyes at Oliver and turned with deliberate slowness to find Thea standing in the entryway. Her arms were crossed over her chest in what Felicity was quickly coming to consider her "disapproving diva" stance.

"Aw, were you having a couples' spat?"

That was just fanning the flames for Felicity. She could feel the angry blush as it spread over her cheeks and down her neck.

"Oh, we are so not doing this," she said through clenched jaws.

Without another word or a second glance for any of them, Felicity swept from the room with the sound of her blood beating war drums in her ears. She was so angry she didn't bother to pay attention to where she was going; she just marched down the plush carpets and dared the house to swallow her whole.

The house obliged.

After a while, when her anger had cooled and she was once again aware of things outside herself, Felicity slowed her pace and made an effort to take in her surroundings. She had no idea where she was or where the hallway she was in would lead. Instead of caring about that, she turned her eyes to the pictures and portraits on the walls and wandered.

Here and there tall tables were tucked against the walls, adorned with ornate vases and sculptures that had probably been there for years. Felicity gravitated toward one when she realized that it also displayed a family picture.

Oliver had to be a teenager. His blonde hair was long enough to be almost silly, but he was grinning with a youthful sort of glee that she couldn't imagine seeing on his face now. Thea was young, and adorable with a mouth full of braces; Felicity wondered if she'd had such a sharp tongue even then. The expression on little Thea's face made her think probably not.

The woman had to be Oliver's mother. She was beautiful – of course she was, because how could she not be? – with flaxen hair that curled perfectly over one shoulder. She looked every inch the powerful socialite that she had been; next to her, a broad man had an arm over her shoulder and a beard that was almost as gray as it was blonde.

All four of them were smiling. They could have been one of those families on commercials for high-end furniture, or resort accommodations.

She heard the footsteps before the voice this time.

"Robert and Moira Queen."

She'd seen pictures of Robert Queen in news articles when she was building the dossier on Oliver. He and his father had been together in that shipwreck six years ago; Robert hadn't survived. Felicity knew that she'd seen pictures and articles of Moira Queen as well, but she hadn't paid as much attention to those. That had been an oversight on her part, though it wasn't the first and it surely wouldn't be the last.

Felicity sighed and turned her head. Sara had stopped a few feet away and propped her shoulder against the wall.

"How did you find me?"

"Spent a lot of time in this house," Sara answered. "Lots of killer games of Hide n' Seek. That, and I followed you."

Felicity almost smiled. Sara must have caught the twitch of her lips because she gave her a lopsided smile in response and pushed herself off of the wall.

"I don't expect you to trust me straight out of the gate, Felicity. I know that trust is earned, and I'm going to earn yours."

Felicity eyed her. "You sound pretty certain about that."

"Not certain; hopeful."

She shifted on her feet and then crossed the distance that separated them. "Did he really tell you everything?"

"Only the facts," Sara said. "And I have to say – blackmail? You've got ovaries of steel."

"Ovaries of steel?" Felicity repeated incredulously.

Sara grinned her trademark grin. "I'm an equal opportunity woman."

"But it's crazy, right? I mean, you must not think very much of the person blackmails your friend into a fake marriage. Not to mention one with a Mafia boss on her trail." Felicity tugged at her fingers nervously.

Sara was all seriousness as she studied Felicity. Her gaze was intense but not hostile, and it reminded Felicity of the way Oliver had looked at her outside.

"I think you're someone who is doing their best to save someone they love. And I've known Ollie most of my life – I've never met anyone who can make that man do anything he doesn't want to."

Felicity's shoulders sagged in relief. She didn't care whether or not she had Sara's approval, but it would be nice to have someone around who didn't bare her claws every time Felicity made an appearance; and while making friends was not necessary, it would certainly make this new life of hers more bearable if she had a few less enemies.

"Thank you for that," Felicity said sincerely. "Um … can you show me how to get back to my room?"

Sara laughed and reached out to gently tug on Felicity's arm. The action was so jovial and familiar that it made Felicity smile involuntarily. The ease of it, and the way Sara nonchalantly gave her a playful bump with her hip, made her feel lighter than she had in far too long.

"Should I draw you a map?" Sara teased.

"Blueprints would be better."

Laughter followed them through the halls. Maybe she could have a friend here after all.


	5. Chapter 5

"It cannot be helped."

Oliver swallowed a sigh. "When?"

On the other end of the line, Anatoly pulled his mouth away from the phone receiver and barked out an order. Then, to Oliver, "Two weeks."

Just then the speaker on Oliver's office phone activated and his secretary's voice filled the space. "Ms. Loring, Mr. King, and Mrs. Hughes are here to see you, Mr. Queen."

Oliver raised his eyes to the glass wall that separated him from Elle, his secretary, and held up a finger to signal that he needed a minute before she sent them in. Elle nodded once in understanding.

"I'll be there," Oliver assured Anatoly.

"Good. Bring Mr. Diggle and we will share the best vodka my country has."

The corner of Oliver's mouth twitched in good humor. Every time he saw Anatoly the other man made it a point to share a bottle of vodka with him.

Oliver agreed and was about to hang up when Anatoly stopped him with a warning.

"Oliver? Dmitri will not make it easy for you."

Oh, he was well aware of that. "Thank you."

He'd barely hung up when the door to his office swung open. Jean Loring, the Queen family attorney, crossed the room with a smile and the same no-nonsense attitude that Oliver had always associated with her. He stood and shook the woman's hand with a genial greeting; when she took a seat in front of his desk, he repeated the handshake and greeting for the two people who had followed her in.

Daniel King and Anna Hughes seated themselves as well. Oliver buttoned his suit jacket to allow himself a moment to switch his train of thoughts from the situation in Russia to the one that was in front of him now. Meeting with Jean had been a necessity, of course, and high on the list of priorities; asking Hughes and King to the meeting had been a last minute decision. They were the two most senior members of the Queen Consolidated board of directors, and Anna Hughes had been something of a friend of his mother's. The thought to include them had come to Oliver when he'd asked Elle to arrange an appointment with Jean. There was no point in doing damage control if he wasn't going to cover all of his bases.

Oliver reseated himself. When he dropped his hands onto the armrests of his chair he was acutely aware of the strip of metal that pressed into his ring finger.

"Thank you for coming," Oliver said lightly. The congeniality was a farce, of course, but the three people across from him had no idea. "There's been a development that I felt I should share with you before word got out by … other means."

King and Hughes glanced at each other warily; Jean straightened in her chair and switched into professional mode with almost startling ease.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Diggle step silently into the room and take up a position near the door.

He cut straight to the chase. "I'm married." He ignored Anna Hughes' surprised intake of breath and the way Jean's eyebrows drew down.

King recovered first. He was a shrewd man and didn't bother with congratulations. "How will this affect the company?"

Oliver appreciated the other man's directness. "Aside from the media buzz, it won't. I have a meeting scheduled with the head of the PR department later this afternoon."

"Will Mrs. Queen be stepping into a professional position in the company?" Hughes asked. She had recovered from her surprise. "Should we expect to see her in board meetings?"

The questions caught Oliver off guard. He fought to keep the surprise from his face. At no point in time had he considered either of those ideas, or any idea that had Felicity dealing with his family's company in any way. Now that they had been voiced he understood the logic behind them, but he didn't immediately know how to answer. He had made sure to prepare everything he thought he'd need for this meeting – or so he'd thought.

"No." He said it with finality.

"I'm going to need the marriage certificate and prenuptial agreement," Jean said.

Oliver reached for the folder that Felicity had given him last night. She'd told him matter-of-factly that it contained every necessary document they'd need for the ruse, and the only question he'd thought to ask was when she'd had the time to forge them all. Felicity had shrugged and admitted that she found forgery relaxing; the statement had been mildly ridiculous because it had been delivered as casually as if she were telling him her favorite flavor of ice cream.

As Oliver passed the folder to Jean, he mentally kicked himself for not looking over the documents. He'd meant to last night, and also this morning, but he'd spent those hours making calls to Russia and fulfilling his role as CEO. Now, he was thoroughly annoyed by the knowledge that he had no idea what was in that folder.

Jean set to rifling through the papers immediately. As she perused the folder's contents, she placed each piece of paper on the edge of his desk as she finished. Oliver tried to surreptitiously study them.

The marriage license was first. He was not surprised to see that Felicity had chosen a state of Nevada certificate; she'd also chosen a marriage date of one year ago. That part at least he'd known to expect – they'd already decided on the story they were going to tell.

Birth certificates were next. Those, of course, were not forged; Oliver ignored his own and tried to glean the information off of Felicity's while also answering the questions Hughes and King were firing at him. Her middle name was Meghan; she was four years his junior, and she'd been born in Las Vegas. He filed that information away for later.

"We'll talk this over with the board, of course," King was saying.

"This could be a positive move for Queen Consolidated," Hughes added. "This company has always projected itself as a family organization, and a wife on the arm of the CEO and Queen family patriarch could boost our image considerably."

Oliver didn't know Anna Hughes well enough to like her, but he'd never disliked her. Her statement set him on edge, however. The words grated on him more than the way they were said: "a wife" instead of "your wife", and "the Queen family patriarch" instead of … well, something else. The words she'd chosen to use made him sound like a pawn and a figurehead for the media, and he didn't like it. Oliver's dislike and irritation for the statement stemmed from more than just the fact that he was neither of those things. He simply couldn't figure out what it was at the moment.

"She agreed to this?"

Jean's question drew Oliver from his thoughts. He glanced at the lawyer and found that she was already looking at him.

"Yes." Out of sight, Oliver clenched a fist. The metal band on his finger pinched the skin around it.

Jean raised a manicured eyebrow. "I've never seen a pre-nup like this in families of your social class."

He didn't say anything. The expression he leveled at her clearly communicated that he expected an explanation.

"There's no infidelity clause," Jean started. "For either of you. There aren't any stipulations for any investments, existing or potential. Your assets are secured, but your wife's aren't. In the event of a divorce, she'll be left with nothing."

Oliver wasn't sure why that surprised him. Felicity had told him outright that the only thing she wanted from him was protection. She didn't care about his fortune or his fidelity; her only thought was for the safety of herself and her mother. In fact, there was a real possibility that Felicity Smoak didn't have any assets to speak of, and therefore had nothing to protect.

"Mr. Queen," Jean started. She stopped for a second and the business façade fell away long enough to see that her next words would not be spoken as the Queen family lawyer, but as a concerned human being. "Oliver. This pre-nup weighs entirely in favor of you and your family, and leaves Felicity unprotected."

King interrupted. "That's either stupid or naïve."

"Or overly trusting," Hughes supplied.

King shot his cohort a look that Oliver easily interpreted: in Daniel King's mind – and world – overt trust was the same thing as naiveté, and neither were to be valued.

"Are you sure that she signed this with a full understanding of its terms?" Jean questioned.

Dehumanizing. That was what had bothered Oliver so much about Anna Hughes' earlier comments: she had dehumanized both him and Felicity with near flippancy, reducing them to "a wife" and a "patriarch". Neither Hughes nor King had even bothered to ask the name of the wife he'd surprised them with. Jean had at least used her name, although Oliver had a gnawing suspicion that her latest question was a veiled attempt to ask him if he'd coerced her into signing a pre-nuptial agreement that would leave her bereft if he decided he wanted to take everything.

Hughes had dehumanized him and a woman that she'd never met, and now King was belittling them. Well, Felicity at least.

He was reminded, once again, of how much he hated the bureaucracy and politics of his social circles; how angry these people and their stilted meanness made him.

The only thing that kept Oliver from biting out a sharp answer was that Jean's last question seemed to be a result of genuine concern that someone would legally lock himself or herself into such a defenseless position.

"The pre-nup was Felicity's idea." His irritation made the declaration a sharp one. "She insisted on the terms. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a conference call scheduled with our Moscow offices." That was a lie.

Oliver didn't realize how tightly he'd been wound until the three of them had disappeared down the hall. He blew out a breath and unbuttoned his suit jacket, then shucked out of it entirely and tossed it over the back of the nearest couch.

"You all right, man?"

Diggle was still standing quietly by the door. He hadn't made a sound for the duration of the meeting. No one except Oliver had known that he was there, and he suspected that was the way Diggle had wanted it. He hated the corporate bureaucracy almost as much as Oliver did.

"Fine," Oliver answered automatically.

Truthfully, he couldn't discern the underlying cause of the tension that was setting him on edge. He dealt with meetings like that one all the time, even daily sometimes, and Hughes was neither the first nor the last person to reduce him to a plaything for the media.

"Between us," Diggle started calmly, "I have to say, I'm impressed."

Oliver turned away from the windows to stare at his friend. "What?"

"Felicity could've made that pre-nup say anything. You didn't even look at it before you gave it to Jean, did you?"

Oliver's glare was all the answer that Digg needed.

"She had carte blanche, Oliver. Felicity could have screwed you over with that piece of paper."

"She didn't."

"Apparently," Digg agreed. "She did the opposite."

Oliver turned back to the windows. In the twenty-nine years of his life, he'd known very few people who had wanted nothing from him. Women wanted his attention, socialites wanted his favor, the paparazzi wanted his photo; everyone else wanted his money, or for him to make money for them. Not only did Felicity apparently not want any of those things, she'd forfeited a perfect opportunity to take them. The only thing she wanted wasn't even something that he had to actively deliver on: in many ways, attaching herself to his name was all the protection that she seemed to need.

Felicity had swept into his office two weeks ago and, aside from the initial blackmail attempt (that had been more of a plea, really), she hadn't asked a single thing of him. She didn't want his attention, or time, or approval; in fact, Oliver had seen his "wife" a total of two times this week and their only conversation had lasted all of ten minutes. That conversation had been last night, when she gave him the folder that Jean would need, and had consisted entirely of ironing out the details of the story they were going to spin.

"It bothers you."

Digg's voice drew him from his thoughts again. This time when Oliver looked, the other man had moved to lean against the edge of his desk and had his arms folded over his chest.

"She bothers you," Digg clarified smugly.

"She's a variable," Oliver answered in a clipped tone. He unconsciously flicked the bottom of the wedding band on his finger with his thumbnail. "An unknown, and you know how much I like those. I know nothing about her. I didn't even know how old she was until I saw her birth certificate in that folder, Digg."

Diggle didn't bother hiding his grin. "Starting to feel like you're in over your head, huh? Like you might have jumped the gun a little bit, maybe?"

Oliver opened his mouth to spit out a reply when Thea breezed into his office on the heels of Elle's insistence that she wait just a moment.

"I come bearing gifts!" his sister announced.

"It's fine, Elle," Oliver addressed his secretary. The woman looked a bit off-put, but she just nodded and went back to her desk.

"Doesn't smell like gifts," Diggle teased.

"Does it smell like Raisa's beef stroganoff?" Thea queried. "Because that's what it is."

"What are you doing here, Thea?"

She gave him a mock pout as she dropped onto the couch and started pulling containers out of the bag in her hand and spreading them across the table. "Bringing you lunch, duh. Raisa's worried that you aren't eating and I've hardly seen you all week, so we thought it'd be nice to bring you a homemade meal."

Diggle had already crossed the room and taken a seat on the opposite couch. Oliver didn't take his eyes from his sister. She'd spent the better part of the last week and a half being snarky and difficult whenever they saw each other, either ignoring him completely or gifting him with sickly-sweet insults that were hidden behind false lightness. He'd finally snapped at her a few days ago, and her behavior had mostly evened out after that.

None of which explained why she'd suddenly shown up in his office with lunch at nearly two in the afternoon.

His stomach grumbled. Traitor, Oliver thought. He ignored Thea's triumphant grin as he sat down.

"Do you have to work this weekend?" Thea asked as they ate.

"I have some paperwork, but I don't have to be in the office. Why?"

"I was thinking we could do something this weekend. The Fourth of July is next week and there's a whole bunch of parties going on this weekend in town, but I was thinking maybe we could go to New York for the weekend and … what?"

Oliver was staring at her. Thea was giving him her best expression of confused innocence, and he saw through it immediately. Oliver didn't like parties and she knew it. All of her suggestions for weekend plans were things that his past self – the old Ollie – would have done, and things that he hadn't done since before the island.

"You know I don't do that anymore," he said slowly.

Thea shrugged. The movement was so far from the nonchalance she was going for that Oliver straightened immediately in response.

"I know," Thea replied. "I just thought, maybe you'd want to show your wife what it's like to be a one percenter."

Oliver skipped right over the barely hidden jab at the fact that Felicity was apparently not from a rich family and honed in on the glint that had come into Thea's eyes. He knew that look, and he knew that he usually didn't like what happened when he saw it.

Thea kept going. "It just seems strange that I never see the two of you together. And, let's be honest, Ollie, your wife is weird."

Thea hadn't used Felicity's name once. She kept referring to her as "your wife", and Oliver thought again about the way Anna Hughes had said "a wife". He clenched his jaw as a fresh wave of irritation swept through him.

"Felicity." Oliver's voice was quiet and tense.

"What?" Thea queried.

"Her name is Felicity," Oliver answered. "Not 'your wife'."

Thea shrugged again in clear dismissal. The action angered him and told him that his sister hadn't really come here to bring him lunch; she wanted to fight with him.

"Anyway, she's weird, and since I want to spend time with you I'm assuming she'll be there. I thought it might be awkward with just the three of us, and I haven't been to a party in forever."

Oliver set his food down. His appetite had disappeared, and Thea was digging for an opening the way she did whenever she had something to say, but wanted an excuse to do so. He wasn't going to give her one.

"No."

Thea glared at him. "No?"

He didn't repeat himself.

"Why not?" Thea challenged. Oliver realized that he'd given her the opening she'd wanted too late. "Because your wife is a weirdo who jumps at loud noises? Seriously, Ollie, what the hell do you see in her? She's like a kicked puppy. I can't get within ten feet of her without her trying to use something as a shield, like I'm going to …"

"Thea!"

Oliver hadn't yelled at his sister since they were children. He had reprimanded her, snapped at her, and even used his best approximation of his "disappointed dad" voice – but he'd never actually yelled at her. Until now, when her name exploded from his throat in a sharp bark that was so loud she flinched.

Thea was stunned.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Oliver demanded. "Felicity has done nothing to warrant cruelty from anyone, let alone you. You know nothing about her or what she's been through, and you have no right to joke about things you don't understand."

"Ollie –."

He had noticed the habits that Thea had so callously made fun of. He had noticed that Felicity startled easily, and that her immediate response to being startled was to make herself smaller – to use whatever was at hand to shield herself, even when it was literally just one of her hands. He remembered the look on her face when he'd tried to tease her about the door that adjoined their rooms. Oliver knew that that door hadn't been unlocked once since she'd moved into that room, and that she locked her bedroom door every night before bed.

Oliver had come home with many of those same habits. He had carried that sort of fear around for the first year on the island, until he'd learned to defend himself and honed his body into a weapon. The fear was gone now, but the hyper awareness was not. There was a part of Oliver that was constantly waiting to be attacked, and that didn't go away whether he was in a crowded place or alone in his room. The difference between him and Felicity was that Oliver knew he could defend himself now.

The only defenses Felicity had were locked doors and a constant desire to be vulnerable as little as possible, and to try not to put herself in situations where she could be surprised.

Thea's suggestion that they go somewhere "public" clicked for him in that moment. Public in Starling City, or any big city, meant crowded.

Oliver snapped to his feet. He didn't think he'd ever been this angry with his sister before in their lives.

"You wanted to go somewhere where she'd be surrounded by people," he accused quietly.

Thea stood as well, and even through the haze of his anger he could see that she was on the verge of tears.

"Ollie, I didn't -."

"You did. You made fun of something that Felicity can't control, Thea. You wanted to bully her, and you wanted me to help you do it."

Twin tears slipped down Thea's cheeks. Oliver ignored them in spite of the way that his heart constricted. Thea had spent her life chasing after him, the gangly shadow that bounced along behind him and asked him every question she could think of. She was sweet, and mischievous, and Oliver had thought of her every day of the five years he'd been gone. Of all the members of the Queen family, Thea had been the best of them. The incorruptible one, and the purest of heart, and the only one that Oliver had ever held out hope for; Thea was kind and honest. His sister was the person that Oliver would do anything for.

What the hell had happened to her?

"For the first time in my life, Thea, I'm ashamed of you."

The words filled the room like a death knell. They were sour on his tongue and made his throat constrict painfully, but those things were nothing compared to the way his sister's face crumpled. Thea's lips trembled and she was crying in earnest, but Oliver didn't try to comfort her. Instead, he watched her turn on her heel and all but run from the room.

The movement of Diggle rising to his feet reminded Oliver that the other man was there. He'd forgotten about him entirely.

There was no judgment in Diggle's face as he clapped Oliver once on the shoulder. "She'll be okay."

Diggle left as silently as he'd arrived. In an effort to burn off some of his angry energy, Oliver cleaned up the remains of their food and then paced a few laps of his office. He clenched his hands into fists as he went, and flicked his thumbnail over his wedding band when the metal pressed into his skin.

He'd agreed to protect Felicity, and he hadn't meant only from her father; he'd just never imagined that he'd need to protect her from his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you yell at me (or hate Thea), let me say that I don't hate Thea and that this scene serves a purpose. You'll see. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I said thank you lately for your continued support of this work? Thank you. Also, I've gotten some questions that I'd like to address at large: first is that this does not occur in the timeline of the show. I'm drawing a lot from Oliver's mindset of season one, but this story is not supposed to occur during a certain season. It's mostly a complete departure from the show: the characters are the same (and most of their back stories), but that doesn't mean they'll be appearing the same way. I won't answer questions about Moira because they will be addressed in the story. Hope that information helps!

Every inch of the writing desk was covered in paper. There was an open folder on the bed and a laptop, as well as a tablet and a set of headphones. The suitcases had been put away, but there was a sweater hanging off the back of the desk chair and a pair of shoes peeking out from beneath the bed.

"Oliver?"

He turned his eyes away from the room and found Felicity and Sara behind him in the hall.

"Hi. Hey, Sara."

"Hey, Ollie." She smiled at him and then looked at Felicity. "I'll see you in the morning. And remember – contacts and tight clothes."

Felicity grinned and shook her head once. "I know!" When she turned her attention back to Oliver he was giving her a strange look.

"Tight clothes?" he questioned.

"Sara wants to teach me basic self defense," Felicity explained, stepping past him and into her room.

Oliver had started to follow her into the room. At her explanation, he found his steps faltering for a second. Sara's offer to teach Felicity how to defend herself was Sara's way of acknowledging the same behavior that Thea had earlier in his office – only, Sara understood what sort of things could cause such behavior. Oliver had thought that Thea would understand that as well, or at least come to the conclusion, but if she had then she'd chosen to ignore it in favor of being nasty.

Self-defense was Sara's way of acknowledging what Felicity had not told them.

"Sara's a good teacher," Oliver said to cover his lapse. "And she's the same build, so she knows what to teach you."

"What do you mean?"

Oliver chose to stand in front of the dresser and lean against it as he faced her. Felicity crawled into the middle of the bed and then folded her legs beneath her. She was already in pajamas – her pants were covered in colorful nesting dolls – and her hair was down. Oliver pulled the details he'd learned about her today to the forefront of his mind and melded them with the picture of her that he refined every time they interacted: beautiful, intelligent, young. The sweep of the bed and the large, dark pieces of furniture that filled the room made her look small by comparison.

"I mean that the way I defend myself isn't the same way you'll defend yourself. You're small, like Sara. She'll teach you moves that rely on agility and speed, instead of brute strength."

Felicity pursed her lips. "That makes sense. So, what's up?"

Oliver crossed his ankles and leaned more of his weight on the dresser. "I had a meeting with Jean today, the family lawyer, and the head of PR at QC." He stopped there.

Oliver didn't like the media. He hated the paparazzi and the way they lapped at the details of his life like rabid dogs at a kill; he hated being on display like a sideshow. Before the island, when he was young and arrogant, he'd loved the attention. The public had wanted a show and he'd willingly given them one.

The head of the PR department had taken the announcement of his marriage and ran with it. Kevin Chi had worked for Queen Consolidated for less than a handful of years; Moira had hired him because he was young, and the perfect person to revamp the company's image in ways that wouldn't alienate the younger generations. Chi was good at his job. Unfortunately for Oliver, that job was to market him and his family like the latest trend - to truss them up for public consumption.

"Oliver?"

Felicity's voice drew him back. He sighed heavily and tugged impatiently at his tie until the knot came loose and he could pull it off. He undid the first few buttons of his dress shirt.

John was right – he had jumped into this situation hastily, guided by his gut instinct to help the woman in front of him, logic and rationale be damned. Oliver didn't regret that decision. Every time Felicity was surprised and he saw the way she reacted, he knew that he'd made the right choice. Still, it might have been smart to hash out a few more of the details before allowing himself to be blackmailed into marriage. The truth of the matter was that this marriage was only fake as far as he and three other people were concerned; for the rest of the world, it was real. Felicity was his wife, and a part of his family now. In his head, she was a stranger, and yet he had to act as though she was his best friend; his partner, and lover; the person closest to him.

Felicity cleared her throat. She'd scooted closer to the edge of the bed, and when Oliver looked at her he saw only kindness in her face. She offered him a tentative smile.

"It wears on you, doesn't it?" she asked quietly. "The double life. The constant tension between who you need to be, and who you want to be? Everyone looks at you, but they don't really see you. They see who they think you should be."

Oliver's shoulders sagged. His chest, tight from the tension that had settled over him after the call to Anatoly and worsened throughout his various meetings, expanded as though it had been freed from its chains. The anger fell away, and in its place all he felt was exhaustion. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Sit down."

Oliver barely hesitated. He stepped forward and lowered himself to the end of the bed, and then registered a small flare of surprise when he realized that he'd done so.

Felicity didn't say anything else. She didn't ask him to continue with whatever he'd started to say or even what was bothering him. Instead, she pulled the tablet and laptop to herself and went back to doing whatever she must have been doing before he'd arrived. Oliver watched her for a while, listening to the steady tap-tap of her fingers moving over the keyboard. She typed quickly and without looking at the keys. Every so often she'd move her attention to the tablet and swipe her finger across the screen, or pull up pages of text.

Even now, Felicity wanted nothing from him. They were in the same room, less than five feet from each other, and she wasn't demanding anything. Thea would have wanted to know what was wrong, or why he wasn't speaking, or what she could do to help, while Felicity just … left him alone. A part of Oliver didn't understand that. Why didn't she want his attention, at least? Why didn't she care that he was there? He wasn't sure he knew what to do with someone who didn't expect anything from him.

The larger part of him was so grateful that he could kiss her.

Oliver's eyes had wandered to the writing desk against the wall. He was close enough now to see that, while it was covered in loose papers, there was one taped to the wall in front of the desk. Love you, baby, it proclaimed in neat handwriting.

"Your mom?"

"Hmm?" Felicity hummed in reply. She moved her eyes off the computer screen and over to the wall where his gaze was directed. Her mother's note stared back at them. "Yeah." Her tone was fond. "Found it in one of my suitcases."

When he was little, Raisa would sometimes slip happy notes into his backpack and lunches. Mostly they were lopsided smiley faces drawn onto Post-It notes, but occasionally there'd be messages as well. His mother had never done that.

Felicity made a few keystrokes and then spun her laptop around and set it down in front of him. A younger version of her stood with a beautiful blonde woman, their arms around each other; Felicity was wearing a graduation cap and gown. They had the same smile.

"Her name is Donna, and she started crying ten seconds after that picture was taken."

The corner of Oliver's mouth pulled up into a smile. Felicity and her mother looked happy and carefree.

Felicity reached out to grab the edge of the laptop and the diamond on her hand caught the light and twinkled at him as she did so. The half-smile on his face slipped away.

"I had a meeting with the head of the PR department today," he started tiredly. "They want to do a press release. They think an official marriage announcement will be better press than a leak on a gossip site."

Felicity inhaled deeply and then blew it out. "Okay," she said slowly. "What, uh, what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that, starting tomorrow, you're gonna have to get used to being called Mrs. Queen."

She nodded. "So the show is about to start," she rephrased. "And you and I are about to be a happy couple."

"Pretty much. So you might want to hide anything you don't want the media finding – like information about your parents. Once the news gets out, we'll be expected to make public appearances. The Queen family heads a lot of charity galas and fundraising events, so they'll be part of it, but don't be surprised if paparazzi start snapping your photo if you decide to cross the street."

"They do that? That's a thing?"

"Sometimes."

Felicity considered his answer. Her face was about to be splashed across gossip sites and newspapers; people would want to know where she was going and what she was doing. Would the news reach all the way to Vegas, and her mother? Would it reach her father? If – when it did, how long would it take Angelo De Luca to discover that his daughter had allied herself with his enemy?

"Felicity."

She shook her head quickly to dispel those thoughts. "Sorry, what?"

Oliver knew what she'd been thinking. "Is there anything I should know?"

The question struck her as odd, and she tipped her head a little as she said, "Like, what? Other than the whole Mafioso as a father thing."

"Anything that might … that the media might try to misconstrue?" He was doing his best not to outright ask the question that had been plaguing him all day.

"Uh … I ate a pot brownie in college once? It was an accident, really, though it might have been fun if I wasn't allergic to nuts. Seriously, my tongue was like, two sizes too big for my mouth, and my face puffed up like the Stay Puff marshmallow man. Not a fun trip to the ER. Not that any trip to the ER is fun, but, well …"

Oliver was just going to have to ask her. "De Luca – your father, did he beat you?" The words tasted bitter as they rolled off his tongue.

Felicity clenched her teeth. Had Oliver asked her that question earlier, she wouldn't have understood why or where it was coming from; as it happened, Sara had made an observation earlier – that Oliver seemed to have made as well.

"No," she answered after a pause. "Well, I've been … manhandled a few times too many, but that's it. I'm just – I'm not a victim, Oliver. Just someone who has spent too long trying to fight off the devil."

"All the same. I want you to know that you're safe here. The only devil in these halls is Thea when she doesn't get her way."

Oliver didn't strike Felicity as a particularly light-hearted man, but she recognized that he was trying to lessen the tension that his question had caused. He genuinely seemed to want to make her comfortable and set her at ease. That was a kindness that she hadn't expected.

She responded in kind. "Clearly you've never seen me before my mandatory morning coffee."

"I have not."

"Be glad. It's not pretty." Felicity smiled.

"Noted."

Felicity could have left it at that. She should have left it at that, but he had made an effort to make her feel better when he didn't have to and she was so grateful for that; more than that, his face was so care worn and drawn that she wanted to return his kindness. With those things in mind, she reached across the gap that separated them and deliberately rested her hand on his forearm.

"Thank you, Oliver."

Oliver studied her hand: small, with short fingernails that were painted a turquoise color that was so bright it was almost fluorescent.

His phone rang then, and Felicity's hand slipped away as he begrudgingly fished it out of his pocket. The day just refused to end for him.

"Night, Felicity," he said as he stood.

"Night, Oliver."

Felicity listened to his voice as he disappeared down the hall and wondered what the hell she'd gotten them into.

* * *

 

Thea Queen was not a coward. She was a firm believer in facing things head on, although that was mostly because she had learned that there was little else to be done. Life had a way of shoving things in her face whether she wanted it to or not. The same could be said of the media, really. Hiding was not an easy feat when one's name was Queen.

Thea managed to do it for the rest of the day after the scene in Oliver's office. She tried not to think of it as hiding for the first few hours, but had finally admitted it to herself when Raisa had brought dinner to her room and given her a hug before leaving. Raisa was good about that: knowing when Thea needed comfort but wasn't ready to talk about why.

She hid, and paced her room in spurts, and chewed on her thumbnail; she blared energetic music too loud in an effort to drown out her thoughts. Nothing helped. Despite her best efforts, Thea couldn't forget what had happened. Oliver's yell had startled her in a way that not much else did anymore. The anger had positively rolled off of him. Those things were drops in the proverbial bucket when compared to the way that he had looked at her, though: as if she had betrayed him somehow, or attacked him.

She would never forget his words. _I'm ashamed of you_. Thea had seen the truth of them painted on his face, and felt their echo in her heart. Her mother would have been ashamed of her as well. She was ashamed of herself, honestly. In truth, Thea would never have done the things she'd spoken of. Her words had been a carefully shaped weapon that she could wield against her brother. She'd wanted to get a rise out of him, and boy had she. More than that, though, Thea had been angry and she'd wanted to hurt Oliver – not just because he'd hurt her, but also because he didn't seem to know that he had. She had been so upset over his behavior of late: he was never there for her anymore. Without their mother, Ollie was the only family she had left, and she was sick of being neglected. All of the canceled dinner plans and promises to spend time with her, and the secrets he was obviously keeping, and then to have him drop some woman into their lives and proclaim himself married … Thea felt like she was living with a stranger. He had Ollie's face and his voice, but none of his character.

In her anger, Thea had lashed out. Ollie was impervious to her, so she'd focused on the person that wasn't: Felicity. Thea had wanted a reaction out of her brother, and now all she wanted was to erase it.

She'd never wanted to hurt or endanger Felicity. Thea was angry but she wasn't cruel. At least, she hoped she wasn't; her behavior over the last few weeks had left a lot to be desired.

Thea hadn't hid because Ollie was angry, but because he was right. She hated herself for saying those things and making her brother think that she meant them. She wasn't trying to hide from other people, but from herself, and the twisted version of herself that she'd glimpsed in Ollie's office.

Thea spent most of the night awake. She replayed every sharp retort and snide remark she'd tossed at Felicity since her arrival, and the ones she'd given her brother as well. She didn't remember all of them, but what she did remember was this: Felicity had never responded to any of them. Felicity had been with them for weeks now and Thea hadn't had a mean word from her. She hadn't had any words from her, actually, aside from that first day. Felicity had taken to avoiding her.

_Felicity hasn't done anything to warrant cruelty from anyone, let alone you_. Oliver's words echoed harshly in her mind. She cried for a while then, and eventually passed out fully clothed on her bed.

The next morning, Thea woke early and made her way down to the kitchen with a goal and a plan of action in mind.

Raisa was humming to herself as she made breakfast. Thea smiled and kissed the older woman on her cheek before crossing to check that the coffee pot was full of fresh coffee. She pulled down a mug.

"Raisa? How does Felicity like her coffee?"

The humming stopped. When Thea glanced up, Raisa was smiling warmly at her. The kindness in her face, so familiar and beloved, twisted the knife of guilt that had lodged itself firmly in her breast. Raisa wouldn't be looking at her like that now if she knew what Thea had said about Felicity.

When Raisa had helped her prepare the cup of coffee – a few teaspoons of French Vanilla creamer was all that was needed – Thea carried it carefully up the stairs. She eyed her brother's door as she passed and wondered if he was already gone for the day.

She took a moment outside of Felicity's door to breathe deeply and mentally run through what she wanted to say. Then, hoping that she wasn't waking her, Thea knocked.

On the other side of the door, Felicity finished pulling her hair into a haphazard bun and then stepped out of her bathroom. When she swung open her bedroom door and found Thea Queen standing on the other side, coffee mug in one hand, her mouth went slack in surprise. That surprise doubled when Thea smiled; Felicity had a scant second to wonder if she was about to get a steaming cup of coffee to the face when Thea spoke.

"Hi," Thea said pleasantly. "I'm Thea. It's nice to meet you, Felicity."

Felicity stared dumbly at the hand that Thea had extended. After several long seconds passed in which Thea didn't retract that hand, Felicity finally reached for it and gave it a shake.

"Uh … hi, Thea."

Thea offered her the coffee mug. "I brought you coffee. I asked Raisa how you liked it, but if it doesn't taste right, uh, I'm sorry."

Felicity took the mug from her but didn't speak. She had no idea what to say or what was going on, and a part of her thought that she was either dreaming or being pranked. Thea had said nothing to her since her arrival that wasn't snide or outright rude, if she deigned to speak to her at all. Now here she was, bringing Felicity coffee and introducing herself as if none of those things had happened.

"Is it poisoned?" Felicity blurted. "Is this gonna be like a scene out of Snow White where I take a single bite and fall into eternal slumber? I mean, I guess it'd be a single drink, since it's coffee and not an apple, but … you get my point."

Thea blinked. When she'd processed Felicity's question and the point beneath all of the rambling, she smiled – truly smiled. Sure, it was a little … odd, but it was also kind of funny.

"No," she answered easily. "No danger of eternal slumber here."

"Okay," Felicity replied, drawing out the first vowel. She glanced at the liquid in an attempt to asses the risk; a moment later she decided that, poisoned or not, it was still coffee.

Thea watched her closely. When Felicity didn't make a disgusted face, she decided to count it as a victory.

"Thank you," Felicity said sincerely. "It's perfect."

Thea nodded and tried to mask her nervousness by shifting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest. "Would you … Raisa has breakfast ready downstairs. We could eat together, if you want."

"What?"

No way was Thea asking to spend time with her. Everything about this was surreal for Felicity.

Thea blew out a breath and straightened up. She needed to do this right. "I'm sorry, Felicity. I don't know you, and I've been nothing but awful to you since you got here even though you've done nothing to deserve it. I just … I've had kind of a terrible year, and I've been so mad at Ollie – but that's not the point. The point is that I've said some terrible things to you, and I'm sorry."

Felicity studied Thea. She wasn't a carbon copy of her brother, but it wasn't hard to see the relation; Thea's face was more open and easier to read. Felicity was willing to bet that Thea had a considerably smaller amount of secrets to hide than Oliver did. At any rate, she was comfortable concluding that Thea's apology was sincere.

"Is there French toast?" she asked.

Thea nodded.

"She makes the best French toast," Felicity said as she smiled and stepped out of her room.

Thea visibly relaxed and then returned her smile. "Ollie says the same thing."

They'd just turned to make their way down the hall when both women glanced up in unison to find Oliver leaning against his doorframe, watching them silently. The sight of him brought them both up short, albeit for different reasons.

Felicity tried not to stare; tried, and failed spectacularly. Oliver was clad only in a pair of dark blue sweats that were slung unfairly low on his hips. His abs defined the term "washboard"; in fact, the definition of his muscles was unreal. His torso was covered in scars and tattoos. The scars gave her pause – she didn't want to contemplate how he'd gotten them, or lived through some of the nastier ones – but the overall effect was … overpowering. Oliver Queen was beautiful.

"Unfair," Felicity muttered. It sounded like a curse.

Oliver raised an eyebrow and Felicity pressed her lips together in embarrassment. Of course he'd heard her.

"Ollie," Thea said in a rush. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

His attention turned to his sister. Felicity took the advantage of the distraction and tried to will the blush away from her cheeks (and her eyes away from his naked chest).

"It's Saturday, Thea."

"Oh." Thea was too busy trying to discern how much of her conversation with Felicity he'd heard to say anything else.

"We're going down for breakfast," Felicity informed him. "If you wanna come."

Oliver pushed away from the doorframe and retreated into his room to grab a shirt. He felt Felicity's eyes track him across the room, but when he turned around her face was hidden by the rim of her coffee cup. He tugged the shirt on and joined them in the hallway.

The way Raisa grinned at them when they entered the kitchen caught Felicity off guard. She looked so pleased to see them all together finally, and it occurred to Felicity then that the three of them had been in a room together less than a handful of times since she'd arrived. Raisa said something in Russian and then nodded to herself before setting to putting their breakfast plates together.

Thea waited until they were seated, full coffee cups in hand, before turning her attention on Felicity. She hadn't planned on Oliver's presence but she wasn't going to let it keep her from following through with her plan.

"So," she started nicely. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch to you."

"Thank you," Felicity answered without hesitation.

"How long have you and Ollie been married? He's never mentioned you."

Felicity paused with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. The truth was on the tip of her tongue. She didn't want to lie to this girl, but maybe Oliver had been right, and Thea couldn't be trusted with the truth. One nice act and civil conversation didn't erase the fact that she had been consistently awful to Felicity. Thea didn't deserve a lie but she'd done nothing to earn the truth, either. Especially when the truth was dangerous.

"A year," Felicity finally answered.

"Why didn't you say anything, Ollie?"

"Felicity asked me not to."

"I wasn't ready for …" Felicity waved her hand vaguely through the air. "All of this. My family isn't wealthy."

"I figured." Thea didn't realize how biting her words seemed until she caught Oliver glaring at her. She hurried to clarify. "I wasn't trying to be mean. You just don't seem very comfortable with it, is all."

Raisa put heaping plates of hot food down in front of them. She'd given Oliver and Felicity French toast, but Thea had blueberry pancakes. Felicity was turning to thank her when she appeared again with the carafe and topped off their coffee cups.

"Thank you, Raisa."

"You are welcome, Miss Felicity."

When Raisa had retreated Felicity cut her eyes first to Thea, then to Oliver. "Does anyone ever manage to finish all the food on their plate in this house?"

Thea grinned. "Digg," she said quickly. "And Ollie, sometimes. When he isn't worrying about his girlish figure."

"Yeah right. I could cut my toast on those abs."

The minute the words had left her mouth Felicity desperately wanted to take them back. She really, really hadn't meant to say that out loud.

There was no way to tell who started laughing first. Thea's laughter was the loudest and she bent at the middle, a hand pressed into her stomach as she tried to breathe; Oliver's was quiet and a little breathy, but Felicity heard it perfectly.

"I didn't mean that," Felicity mumbled. "Well, I meant it, I just didn't mean to say it. Out loud. In front of other people."

She buried her face in her mug and cursed her faulty brain-to-mouth filter.

"I think that's the best compliment you've ever gotten, Ollie," Thea said when she'd managed to stop laughing long enough to speak. "But if you like his abs so much, how come you're sleeping in different rooms?"

"We're working through some things," Oliver replied.

"Like my ability to embarrass myself to death," Felicity added dryly.

"The circus is in town," a new voice said then.

Felicity flinched in surprise. She caught herself rolling her shoulders forward and leaning toward Oliver – away from the voice – and stopped mid-movement. Inhaling deeply, she forced her shoulders to relax and straightened up just as Digg came into her line of sight.

Felicity cleared her throat. "Sorry. Uh, what circus?"

"The paparazzi," Digg said. He took a seat in the chair next to her and Raisa appeared with a cup of coffee for him. "They're lined up outside the front gate."

"Why?" Thea questioned.

Digg glanced at Oliver and Felicity. "You're on the news. QC released a statement this morning about the new Queen in town."

Felicity thought maybe all the blood had left her face. Oliver had warned her, but now that it was happening … she wasn't ready. Her name and face were on the news. The anonymity that she had found in the last two weeks was gone, and her whereabouts were being blasted to the public at that very moment. If her father hadn't known before where she'd disappeared to, it was only a matter of time before he did now. Her plan to take back her life and save her mother might have been crazy, but there was no escaping it now.

Her world was a theater and she'd been called to the stage.

A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Hey."

Felicity looked at it and then lifted her eyes to lock gazes with Oliver.

"You okay?"

"I will be." She didn't have a choice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long. I'm away for the holidays and when I left this chapter was done except for the last, maybe, 200 words - and then between my family and the holiday I've only just barely had the chance to sit down and finish the chapter.

As it turned out, Sara's offer to teach Felicity self-defense was actually an invitation to an ass kicking; a friendly ass kicking, but an ass kicking all the same. Sara put her through basic movements for an hour and a half before declaring that she'd thrown enough information at her for one day. By the time Felicity made it back to her room for a shower, she was seriously considering curling up in the middle of her bed and not moving for the next forty-eight hours.

Felicity had finished washing her hair when she decided that standing was too taxing. She turned the shower knob to a hotter setting and then lowered herself gingerly to the floor. For a while, she simply closed her eyes and sat under the spray of water, concentrating on the way her hair slowly slid down over her face and nothing else. She stayed there until her fingers were first class prunes.

When she'd finished showering, Felicity dressed with care. She loved fashion – she always had – and took pride in her appearance, but there was a new pressure to present herself well now. She chose a color block dress that her mother loved and left her hair down, long and straight with just a little curl at the ends. Felicity had worn her contacts for the training session with Sara and hadn't bothered to take them out for the shower, so she figured there was no point in doing so now.

When she was finished and staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, Felicity admitted to herself that a part of her was dressing up for Oliver. After Diggle's statement about the press release and waiting media, Oliver had taken her aside and told her that it would be easier on them if they engaged the vultures on their own terms. Then he'd asked her to dinner. It was a date that wasn't a date, and there'd been nothing romantic about the way it came about, but Felicity was touched anyway – Oliver kept surprising her with his quiet consideration. He'd warned her about the paparazzi last night and the dinner tonight was clearly for her benefit: Oliver wanted to control her first experience with the media as his wife as much as he could.

Oliver Queen was quickly proving that he was not at all the man Felicity had expected to find when she'd put her plan in motion. Her only experience with powerful men was a twisted Italian Mafioso – and Oliver was nothing like Angelo De Luca. In fact, he wasn't much like any man she'd known before. He was serious but not unkind; observant and attentive, but aloof; perceptive, but reserved. A strange mixture, all things considered, and Felicity didn't always know how to handle that. She hated mysteries, and so much of Oliver seemed to be exactly that: a mystery.

A mystery with unfairly good looks and a chest that she'd happily do body shots off of for the rest of her life.

"Don't go there, Smoak," she muttered to herself.

Felicity was looking for the black stilettos she wanted to wear when her eyes fell on the door that connected her bedroom to Oliver's. Thea's question from breakfast came back to her: _how come you're sleeping in different rooms_? Felicity had been prepared for that question, but she knew that her answer would only hold water for so long. Thea wasn't the only one that they had to worry about asking that question, either. Felicity didn't have a concrete idea of how many people were employed on the grounds of the Queen mansion, but she knew it had to be a lot. Even the strictest confidentiality clause wouldn't stop someone's tongue if it wanted to wag. The circle of people that Felicity trusted was a small one, and didn't include people that she didn't know – or see. Starting today - now, she was Felicity Queen; appearances needed to be kept up.

For the first time since she'd moved in, Felicity crossed the room and unlocked the adjoining door and then pulled it open slowly.

"Oliver?"

There was no answer. Curious, she leaned forward and surveyed the parts of the room that she could see: his bed was the size of hers and directly to the left, with blue sheets that were in a state of disarray. Directly across from her was a couch that faced a fireplace and beyond that, the door into the hallway stood open. There was a sailboat on the mantle of the fireplace. The room was clean and obviously lived in, but Felicity found it … impersonal. There was nothing in the space to hint at the character or individuality of its inhabitant. That was odd.

Felicity left the door open and retreated. She took a seat at her desk and made a mental note to ask either Raisa or Oliver where the Ibuprofen was kept the next time she saw them. She opened her laptop and pulled the tablet over to sit beside it, figuring that she could get some more work done while she killed time.

The USB drive that she'd put together had all the information that she'd managed to steal from her father's computer. Invoices for illegal deliveries, secure coded emails, even rosters of some of the top names in De Luca's organization; the only problem that Felicity was running in to was figuring out how to feed the information to the cops without implicating either herself or her mother. Her first idea had been to tip off the Starling City Police Department. She'd held off when she realized that they probably had no idea who De Luca was – the Italians had no presence in this city – and that they had no jurisdiction over him. The heart of her father's operation was in Las Vegas, and that's where the strike would have to come from.

The sheer amount and nature of the information that Felicity had stolen presented its own problem: if it got out, her father would know exactly where it had come from. She hadn't bothered with the small stuff, choosing instead to pirate documents straight from her father's computer. At the time, Felicity had been focused on the strength of what she could steal – it needed to be ironclad proof, and damning, and it was. As such, no one would have access to that information but De Luca himself, and his genius daughter. His genius daughter whose hacking and computer skills he'd exploited extensively for the last two years.

Felicity had the information; she had the tools, and no way to use them that wouldn't either tip off her father, or drive him to retaliation. Both of those things would be worth the risk to her if she knew that her mother was safe. Felicity would go to every police station and media outlet within a tri-state area and blast De Luca without a second thought if Donna Smoak were out of his reach. That wasn't the case though: she'd left her mother in Vegas, defenseless, and she knew her father well enough to know that his revenge would come at the cost of her mother.

"Heads up!" a voice called from the hall.

Felicity turned in her seat to watch Sara walk through the open door. She smiled. After their conversation in the hall the first day they'd met, Sara had taken to announcing her presence before she came into view. Felicity hadn't realized she was doing it until days later, or that it was Sara's way of making sure she didn't startle her until the other woman had mentioned that, along with self-defense, she could also teach Felicity to be more aware of her surroundings. That had been the first time Felicity hugged her.

"Whoa," Sara teased when she saw her. "Bombshell alert."

"Yeah?" Felicity asked. She wasn't as certain as Sara sounded. "Do you think it's nice enough? The dress, I mean. It's not top of the line, but …"

"I like the dress," Sara replied. "And you're beautiful. Why the nerves?"

"The game's afoot." Felicity blew out a breath. "Oliver and I are having dinner tonight to sate the apparently rabid media. Digg said they've been lined up outside the mansion since the news got out."

"I saw them on my way in," Sara said as she plopped down on the bed. She grinned. "They're calling you the 'new darling of Starling'."

Felicity was horrified. "They are not!"

Sara laughed and nodded. "Oh, they definitely are."

"Worst moniker ever," Felicity grumbled.

"I think it's cute." Sara glanced at the adjoining door. "Ollie's here."

"What's cute?" Oliver said moments later. He stopped under the doorframe and gave Felicity a questioning look, glancing from the open door and back to her.

"Appearances, right? Figured I'd leave it open during the day, that way if anyone looks in it'll look like we're just taking up two rooms."

"Smart."

"They're calling Felicity the new darling of Starling," Sara announced gleefully. Her grin widened when Felicity rolled her eyes. "It's cute."

"It's not cute," Felicity insisted. To change the subject she said to Oliver, "Do you have ibuprofen somewhere? Sara wore me out earlier." A pause, and then, "Did that – that sounded sexual, didn't it? I didn't mean it that way, obviously. I just mean that I'm sore. Not like, sore from sex, I wasn't … we weren't …"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupted.

Sara was laughing. "You're cute."

"Don't let me speak to the media. Ever."

"I have ibuprofen in my bathroom," Oliver told her. He moved right past her verbal gaffe. "C'mon."

He waited for Felicity to stand before turning and leading her across his room to the bathroom. She stopped outside the door and scanned the area while he retrieved the bottle of analgesics from the drawer.

Felicity was half turned away from him. She was looking away, and Oliver took a moment to study her. Without heels on he was reminded of how small she was: her head reached to the middle of his chest at most. Her dress was modest but displayed her curves effortlessly, and Oliver let his eyes linger for a second longer than was entirely proper. Felicity was beautiful.

Her voice interrupted his study of her. "Has this always been your room?"

"Why?"

Felicity shrugged one shoulder. "It just doesn't feel like you, I guess."

She'd turned her attention to him, and Oliver arched an eyebrow. The words 'and what do I feel like?' were right on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to bite them back. Instead he handed her the bottle in his hand and said, "Oh?"

"It's not very personal."

"I don't spend a lot of time in here."

He watched her unscrew the cap. Her nails were painted a yellow that almost matched the twin spots of color that brightened the sides of her dress. The splash of color across the gray pulled his eyes to her waist and the gentle flare of her hips.

"Do you like Italian?" Oliver needed to stop staring at her.

Felicity pursed her lips at him and furrowed her brow as she tipped her head to the side. The reaction was so unexpected that it snapped Oliver to his senses; he replayed his question in his mind and then huffed out a breathy chuckle.

"Food," he clarified. "Italian food."

In front of him, Felicity smiled brightly. The expression was sincere and Oliver wasn't expecting it to strike him the way it did. The magnitude of it – the moment of easy joy behind it – made him realize that he'd never seen her smile so earnestly before, and it threw all of his previous interactions with her into sharp relief. She hadn't complained or even given any outward indication of it, but Felicity was unhappy here. _Who wouldn't be unhappy_ , he asked himself, _alone in a house where you were either neglected or insulted at every turn?_

"I love Italian food," Felicity answered.

"Good. Dinner is in an hour."

"I'll leave you to get ready. Thanks for the ibuprofen."

Oliver shook his head when she tried to hand it back to him. "Keep it. You're gonna need it."

"Good point."

He did his best not to stare at her ass as he watched her disappear into her room.

Sara was stretched out on her stomach when Felicity stepped back into her room. She had her chin in one hand and her phone in the other, and when she saw Felicity she grinned and held the device out to her. Felicity crossed the space and leaned down far enough to read the display: it was a website for the _Starling City Times_. The headline said in bold letters, _The New Darling of Starling: Who is Felicity Queen?_

"I should crash their website out of spite."

She could just hear the faint sound of a shower turning on.

Sara dropped her phone onto the blankets and then twisted herself into an upright position so that she could scoot to the end of the bed.

"You ready for this?" she asked seriously.

"I better be," Felicity replied, sitting next to her and extending her legs in front of her. "I don't have much of a choice. And I did bring it on myself, after all."

"Still. It's a lot to deal with."

Felicity glanced at her friend. "Which part? The sudden media exposure – which is insane, by the way – or the part where I have to pretend to be in love with a man I've known for two weeks?"

Sara bumped Felicity's arm with her shoulder. "Both. But no one said you had to pretend to be in love. There are plenty of rich people who get married for the power, or prestige. Plenty of people in general, really, who marry without love."

"True," Felicity agreed. "You're coming, right? You and Digg?"

"We are, but we won't be in the restaurant. Worried about being alone with Ollie?"

Sara was teasing her again, but she was also right. Sort of. "Only that I'll say something horribly embarrassing, as usual," Felicity admitted.

In the other room, the water shut off. Felicity took it as her cue to stand up and snatch her stilettos out of the closet. She was halfway back to the bed when she stopped, glanced down at the shoes, and then held them out to Sara.

"Should I go with black? Or nude?"

Sara studied her. "Show me the other ones."

Felicity retrieved them and held them up to her dress.

"The nudes," Sara decided. "Black is too harsh."

Felicity tossed the unwanted pair of heels on the floor next to her bed and then sat to pull the other ones on. When that was done she stepped into the bathroom and dabbed her favorite perfume onto her wrists and neck; a quick check of her makeup, and Felicity declared herself ready.

"How do I look?" she asked as she emerged.

Sara had disappeared. Instead, Oliver stood in the middle of her room.

"Beautiful," he answered.

Her mouth went dry. "Sorry, I thought Sara was still here."

"I sent her down to bring the car around with Digg. Ready?"

Felicity nodded and retrieved her cell phone and purse before turning to head for the door. Oliver held his arm out for her and she took it gingerly.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she murmured.

* * *

 

The moment Felicity took Oliver's hand and let him help her from the car, people started calling her name. She tried to focus on Oliver's face but the rapid fire of camera flashes was blinding. Felicity stood immobile for several heartbeats, overwhelmed and paralyzed.

Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. He turned his head so that his lips fell against the hair above her ear and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Digg is right in front of you," he whispered to her. "Keep your eyes on his feet. It'll help with the flashes."

Felicity nodded. She found Digg with her eyes and watched as he turned and held his arm out to usher them forward, and then did as Oliver had said and dropped her gaze to his feet. With the hand around her waist Oliver turned her farther into his chest and stepped forward.

She followed his lead automatically. All around her strange voices called out different variations of her name – Felicity and Mrs. Queen and Felicity Queen – and asked Oliver for a statement. Felicity ignored them and occupied herself by trying to guess what cologne Oliver was wearing. She liked it.

Felicity looked up in time to see Digg pull the door to the restaurant open. The bodyguard gave her a barely there smile as they passed, and then the din of reporters fell away and they were inside. She took a deep breath.

"Okay?" Oliver queried.

She nodded and turned her head to look at him. Before she had a chance to say anything the host was welcoming them.

"Good evening, Mr. Queen. Mrs. Queen. If you'll follow me, please."

Oliver didn't release her until they'd been shown to their private table. Felicity was surprised to see that, while they had a mostly unimpeded view of the restaurant floor, they were sequestered in an alcove that was walled on three sides. She smiled at Oliver when he held her chair out for her.

"Thank you," she said as she took her seat.

"You're welcome."

When their waiter came to take their drink orders, Oliver ordered a neat scotch and Felicity went with a glass of red wine that was probably more expensive than most of the bottles of wine she'd bought in her life combined. She tried not to think about it. To divert herself, Felicity reached for a menu – except there wasn't one. Confused, she cast her eyes to the space in front of Oliver, but he didn't have a menu either.

Oliver smiled when he saw her confusion. "Wait and see."

The words had barely left his mouth when an older man appeared at their table. Streaks of gray swept across his temples and into his hat, and Felicity felt her mouth fall open when she realized that it was the Chef.

"Look at you," the man said to Oliver. "You're wasting away! That's what you get for staying away so long."

Oliver shook his head in mock exasperation and stood to shake the Chef's hand. When he turned his attention to her Felicity stood and offered the Chef a smile and her hand.

"Sid, I'd like you to meet Felicity. Felicity, this is Sid. He makes the best Italian food in the city."

"State," Sid corrected. He took her hand and drew it to his lips instead of shaking it, pressing them into the skin above her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. And may I extend my condolences."

Felicity swallowed. "Uh, for what?"

"He means …" Oliver started.

"For marrying this idiot, of course," Sid said, talking right over Oliver. In a fake whisper he said, "It's okay, we all know he's hideous. It's nice of you to let him out every once in a while, though."

Felicity laughed and leaned forward, over the hand of hers that Sid still held. "Finally, someone who understands. The struggle is real, Sid."

She shot a smile at Oliver and felt her breath catch in her throat when their gazes met. He was studying her intently, and though he'd done it before there was something in the way he was doing it now that made her throat feel dry. Felicity couldn't shake the feeling that she was being noticed; that she was being seen, truly, for the first time in years.

"You can let go of her hand now, Sid."

Felicity's stomach swooped wildly. The words weren't a command, exactly, but there was a dry note behind the humor that Sid either didn't notice or chose to ignore. He did release her hand though.

"Now," Sid continued. "Let me look at you!" He stepped back and surveyed her in a way more suited to a tailor than a chef. Then he clapped his hands. "Right. I know the perfect dish. Sit tight and try not to miss me."

Sid winked at Oliver as he said the last part and then vanished. Stunned, Felicity turned questioning eyes to her dinner date, but found that she didn't actually know what to ask first.

"What was that?" she finally managed as they reseated themselves.

"Sid doesn't believe in menus. He chooses a dish off of your drink choice and what you're wearing."

"What?" Felicity deadpanned. "Is he … does that work?"

Oliver nodded. "Has so far."

Silence stretched between them for a bit then. The lull in conversation was odd, not because it felt stilted or awkward, but because Felicity didn't know how to fill it and Oliver didn't seem bothered by it. He wasn't tense, really, but he wasn't completely relaxed either; on edge was the figure of speech that came to mind. Was he uncomfortable? Irritated? Upset because he was with her, and not someone else?

A new thought occurred to Felicity then. She was mildly irritated that it hadn't occurred to her before, because it was such an obvious thing to think about – such a basic question to ask, and she was only now thinking of it.

"Oliver?"

He answered her by fixing his eyes on her.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to ask this before," Felicity started, "But did I – have I come between you and someone else?"

Oliver furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"I never asked if you were seeing someone," she clarified. "I mean, I don't care if you are, obviously, I just … I don't want to make things difficult for you. More than I already have, anyway."

Oliver sighed and rolled his shoulders back and down in an act of nervousness that Felicity clearly recognized. Her question had made him uncomfortable.

"No," he answered. "There hasn't been anyone in a while. You?"

Felicity chuckled but it came out dry and bitter. She turned her eyes down to the table and ran her pointer finger over the bottom of her wineglass.

"My life hasn't exactly been conducive to a relationship in the last few years." She kept her voice quiet. "Being alone is …"

"Easier?" Oliver supplied when she let the sentence trail away.

Felicity nodded. "If I was seeing someone, I don't know how I'd tell them about … anything."

Oliver didn't reply. His eyes followed her finger as it did another loop around the bottom of her wineglass. What a lonely pair they made. His loneliness was self-imposed at least, and a necessary measure of protection for the people he cared about. Felicity was alone because she was too busy trying to survive to worry about things like romance. The injustice there was that, though Oliver didn't know her well, he felt he was right in thinking that Felicity was someone who had a lot to give in the heart department. She was intelligent, beautiful, and fiercely loyal; loving enough to beg, bribe or steal for those she loved.

The only person that had ever loved Oliver with that kind of devotion had been his mother, and she was gone. He was alone in his power and responsibility, the protector and never the protected; Felicity was alone in her struggle and purpose, the lover and never the loved. They were opposites but not at odds.

The arrival of their food interrupted his train of thought. The dark expression that had moved over Felicity's face fell away as she watched their waiter deliver the food with fascination. Oliver was not adept at moving quickly through his emotions – he had a hard time shaking off the gray moods that took hold – but the woman across from him made it look like an art form. The shadows disappeared and in their place, curiosity and excitement blossomed.

Felicity took a bite of her food and made a quiet mewling sound in the back of her throat. "This is better than sex," she almost whined.

Oliver's hand tightened on his fork. Felicity didn't notice. In all fairness, she seemed to have momentarily forgotten he was there.

"I mean, I'll admit it's been a while," she continued, staring at her plate as she did so. "But the point still stands. I've never understood how food could be considered orga-"

"Felicity," Oliver bit out.

She lifted wide eyes to him and blushed when she found him glaring at her. Felicity cleared her throat and took a drink of her wine to cover her embarrassment.

"Sorry."

_Great job, Smoak_ , she chided herself silently, _because sex is such a good topic for dinner conversation. Wonderful._

She managed to make it through the rest of the meal without another verbal gaffe. Sid reappeared as their plates were being taken away and Felicity did her best to get him to reveal how he'd managed to pick the perfect dish for her. The chef laughed and demurred, claiming that it was his own particular brand of magic and that she needed to find her own. Felicity laughed at that.

"I'm not much of a magician," she told him.

Sid waggled his eyebrows at her and kissed the back of her hand again in farewell. "It's easier to see magic when you're not the one making it." He winked at Oliver, shook his hand, and left.

"I like him," Felicity announced.

"The feeling is mutual," Oliver answered.

Oliver paid the bill and stood. Felicity had already pushed her chair away from the table, so he offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. He instinctively started to let go of her and then thought better of it. She was surprised by the continued contact for only a moment before she cleared the expression from her face. Instead, she smiled – it was a small smile, quiet and even tremulous. The smile wasn't meant to please strangers or be witnessed by paparazzi, but was instead a show of solidarity. The message was wordless, but Oliver heard it loud and clear: _we're in this together_. On impulse, in answer, he gave her hand a quick squeeze.

They didn't let go until they were in the town car, and the watching eyes of the world had faded away with the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. This one isn't very long and it's taken me way too long to write, but real life isn't being kind to me at the moment. I'll try to get the next one up sooner.

Her heart hurt. The panicked thing fluttered wildly in her breast; it was a drum beating an uneven, off beat tune. Felicity tried to focus on her breathing, but it was a difficult task when she was certain that at any moment her heart would either explode out of her chest, or collapse, or crumble beneath its own weight. She pressed an open palm against the skin of her left breast as though that would contain the heart within.

Felicity inhaled deeply. She held the air in her lungs and counted to ten in time with her footsteps, and then exhaled slowly. Again and again the action was repeated as she paced the hallway; again and again it failed to slow the frantic, painful beating of her heart. Frustrated, Felicity lengthened her stride and moved up and down the hall at a faster pace. She eyed the stairs and then barreled down them as quickly as she could without making an overwhelming amount of noise.

When she alighted in the foyer she was winded, but the pressure in her chest felt marginally lessened. Desperate, spurned on by the tiny success, Felicity dropped to her back on the floor right there and started doing crunches with a vengeance.

"Odd time for a workout," a quiet voice commented dryly.

Felicity stopped at the end of the crunch and cut her eyes to the other side of the room. Digg was looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"Are you okay?" he inquired.

She popped to her feet and pressed a hand into her chest again. The combination of sudden exercise and panic made her breathless.

"Anxiety attack," Felicity explained. Her calm tone of voice belied the pressure that was bearing down on her. Strange that she should sound so collected when it was all she could do to keep whatever beast was within her from ripping her asunder in an attempt to break free.

"Is the movement helping?"

She nodded. "A little. I think."

"C'mon," Digg said, shucking his head toward one of the hallways.

The bodyguard waited until Felicity was beside him to start walking. He chose a pace that was not much quicker than his usual walk, but that proved more strenuous for the small woman with him. Her strides were not as long as his and so for every one that he took, she took two. Digg watched her as they moved down the hallway but she gave no sign that she wanted to slow. He kept up the pace.

"Do they happen a lot?" Digg asked as they traveled. "The anxiety attacks?"

"They do now," Felicity admitted. Her shins had started to burn as she kept up with him, the pace too fast for her usual walk and too slow to warrant a slow jog. They were silent for a bit until she said, quite suddenly, "I haven't had one in a while. I've had so much on my mind, and I just … haven't had time, I guess? That's crazy, right, I mean, how can you not have time for an anxiety attack? Pretend I didn't say that."

Digg turned his head to study her but didn't stop moving. "When I was in Afghanistan, my commanding officer started having panic attacks. We did our best to help her through them, but there wasn't much we could do. A few months into the deployment, a few of us noticed that she never had the attacks during an op or firefight. They always happened in the quiet moments – mostly at night." Here Digg paused. Felicity's shins were on fire and she'd started to struggle with the pace, so he stopped and turned to face her in the middle of the semi-dark hallway. "Anyway, I asked her about it once, about why she thought that these attacks happened in relatively safe moments, when there was nothing outright dangerous happening."

"Instead of during the scary, life or death moments, you mean?" Felicity asked.

Digg nodded. "And ya know what she said? She said, 'those are the easy times, Johnny. I'm too busy thinking about it – trying to stay alive – to feel it. It's only later, when I'm still alive and my heart has time to catch up, that I panic.'"

"Like a sensory overload," she supplied.

"Something like that," he agreed. "You've uprooted your whole life in the last month, Felicity, and I get the feeling that whatever that life was, it was just one long firefight. This is your safe moment. Your chance to feel instead of think. Your brain knows what's going on, and now your heart is trying to catch up."

Felicity's throat tightened without warning. She raised her eyes abruptly to the ceiling and blinked furiously against the sting of tears, but they would not be denied. She felt a handful of them slip down her cheeks. Irritated with herself for crying, Felicity tipped her chin down again and ignored the tears to look Digg in the eye. He didn't appear bothered by her emotional state, and he didn't look away.

"I don't know what I expected when I first came here," she started softly. "But it wasn't this. I've known more kindness here in a month, from total strangers, than I did in the two years I lived with the man who had a hand in making me. How awful is that?"

Digg didn't answer. He studied Felicity quietly, taking in her bright pajama pants and dark glasses; she was young, and struck him as even younger in that moment as another tear slipped unnoticed down her cheek. Oliver was crazy for agreeing to her proposition – crazy for believing that Felicity Smoak was who she said she was, and that she could be trusted, based only on the presence of a hunch – but he wasn't wrong for helping her. Oliver was impulsive and reckless in spades, but he was a good man with a compassionate heart. Felicity had gone to him for help and he had been right to give it to her. Something that Digg was only now taking to heart.

"What happened to her?" Felicity queried. "Your commanding officer?"

Digg smiled. "I married her."

Felicity laughed and wiped the half-dry tears from her face.

"C'mon," Digg said as he started walking again. "I have a whole other wing to check."

* * *

 

Thea was sitting at the table and nursing a cup of coffee when Felicity went down for breakfast. The younger Queen looked up from her tablet and gave her a smile. Felicity returned it, albeit somewhat tremulously; part of her was still concerned that Thea might revert back to her less than savory behavior from before.

"You feeling okay?" Thea asked as Felicity sat down next to her.

"Fine. Why?"

Thea shrugged. "Just look a little tired, that's all."

Felicity nodded slowly. She was tired. She'd accompanied Digg on his security rounds and then been surprised when he'd offered to sit with her for a while until she felt ready to go to bed. The bodyguard hadn't pressed her for information or asked her questions like she'd expected. Digg had simply sat with her in easy silence until Felicity found herself telling him that sometimes she was afraid to close her eyes at night because she didn't want to dream about her mother being dead. Digg hadn't answered, but he had hugged her, and walked her to her room twenty minutes later when she couldn't stop yawning. He still scared her a little – he was a large man, after all, and generally so stoic that she had a hard time reading him – but she'd woken thinking that maybe John Diggle didn't hate her after all.

"Couldn't sleep," Felicity explained. "What're you reading?"

"It's about you, actually." Thea grinned and slid her tablet across the table to Felicity. "TMZ article."

Felicity groaned and scanned the article quickly. The reporter hadn't said anything negative about her, at least. The picture that accompanied it showed her and Oliver leaving the restaurant: Felicity's face was angled downward and half hidden by Oliver's chest. They were holding hands. She pushed the piece of technology back to Thea.

"It's not the worst picture," Thea started. "Considering you're pretty much hidden behind Ollie. But it got me thinking. The paparazzi's probably gonna be on the lookout for ya for awhile, and I don't remember seeing you bring a lot of suitcases, so … I thought we could do some shopping today, if you're not busy."

Felicity's hand paused halfway to her mouth in surprise and nearly splashed coffee over the rim of her coffee cup. Her eyes felt large in her face as she made eye contact with Thea.

"You want to take me shopping?"

Discomfited, Thea squirmed in her chair and cleared her throat softly. "Uh, yeah. I thought, ya know, maybe you might have forgotten some things, or …" She shrugged and averted her eyes to her coffee cup. "I like shopping. I used to go with my mom. We'd get lunch and make a day of it."

Felicity licked her lips nervously. "What happened to her?"

Thea's head shot up quickly. She didn't look angry, just … uncertain. "Ollie didn't tell you?"

Right. She was supposedly his wife, and what wife didn't know where her mother-in-law was or what had happened to her? Hell, Oliver knew where Felicity's mom was, but she hadn't asked him about his.

"I didn't know how to ask," Felicity replied truthfully.

"Oh." Thea blew out a breath. "She, uh. She was killed about a year ago. Cops found her body on a street in the Glades. She just left work one night and never made it home. No ransom demands or anything. The cops say it might have been a revenge killing, but they don't really know, and they never caught the guy that killed her."

A tense, breathless moment passed in which Felicity was convinced that she was going to throw up the half a cup of coffee she'd already drank. The hand that held her coffee cup had started to shake. She set it down slowly and tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat.

"Thea …" Her voice faltered. "I'm sorry." She wanted to continue, but what could she say? What words could she offer that wouldn't seem like a paltry attempt to gloss over the loss that she – and Oliver – had suffered?

Felicity could tell Thea about her own situation. She could share her fear that Donna Smoak might have suffered the same fate already, or would possibly do so soon; she could try to make Thea see that they had much in common, or that she wasn't alone; she could spill her guts at that very moment in trembling, choked words and beg Thea to keep her secret. Felicity could do any and all of those things, but none of them would help Thea Queen. Instead, she sighed quietly and willed her hands to stop shaking so that she could drape one of them over the hand of Thea's that rested on the tabletop.

"I'd love to go shopping with you," Felicity said evenly. "But I don't have any money."

Thea shook off her melancholy and made an emphatic psh sound. "Of course you do, you're a Queen. We can even stop by QC and see if Ollie wants to have lunch before we go. And I know all of the best boutiques, there's this one downtown that mom and I used to go to all the time. Eva, the lady that owns the store, knows me by name now."

Felicity smiled as Thea gathered up her tablet and excused herself to get ready. She was halfway out the door when she called back for Felicity to hurry up and get ready, and her clear enthusiasm warmed Felicity's heart. There were many things about Oliver's sister that she didn't fully understand yet, but what she did know made more sense now.

Felicity had been just a girl when her father had left them. She didn't remember it perfectly and she had seen how much it hurt her mother the few times she'd asked about it, so a lot of the details had been washed away with time. What Felicity did remember was being young – seven, maybe – and not understanding why her father didn't come home anymore; she remembered her mother telling her once that it was for the best, and Felicity hadn't understood that either. She'd known only that she'd lost something that she'd never known could be lost, and so she'd reacted in the only way that the young were capable of: she'd lashed out at the person closest to her.

Her father had reappeared in their lives many years later, when the ignorance of youth had long since faded, and Felicity had quickly learned that some things were better off lost.

Thea's loss had been more violent, though perhaps not more sudden. No wonder she had reacted so negatively to Felicity's arrival; she thought of the way Thea had spit the words "Mrs. Queen" at her. How awful that must have been for her after such a recent loss. Felicity had been acquainted with anger long enough to know that it made for a grim bedfellow, and whereas she had had Donna to bear the brunt of hers, it was clear to Felicity that Thea had no one. She chose to believe that Oliver loved his sister, but she'd been in the house long enough to know that he was rarely there. If that was how it'd always been, or was a new development and a result of their loss, Felicity didn't know. Either way it was understandable that Thea should feel abandoned now. It wasn't so strange that she should lash out at a stranger, really – that she had reacted so strongly to Felicity's presence.

Felicity studied her surroundings with a heavy heart. The Queen mansion was big, and beautiful, and hollow in all the ways that it should not have been. For all that it seemed to be full of people, it seemed to her then such a sad, lonely place.

Raisa bustled into the kitchen. She greeted Felicity warmly and started pulling drawers and cupboards open with easy familiarity. The activity drew Felicity out of her revelry and she finished her coffee in two gulps and then stood to carry it to the sink.

"Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes, Miss Felicity," Raisa called as she made for the door.

Felicity turned and offered the maid her warmest smile. "Thank you, Raisa."

She showered and dressed quickly in a nice blouse and pencil skirt ensemble. Every outfit Felicity had seen Thea in was designer and she knew without asking that whatever boutiques they visited today would be top of the line. While she wasn't ashamed of her lack of money, it was also important to Felicity to present herself well, and not just because she was supposedly the wife of one of the city's most well known billionaires. Felicity wanted to look good for herself.

She was sitting on the end of her bed and slipping her shoes on when she heard Sara.

"Morning," the other woman called distantly.

Felicity had time to finish with her shoes and stand to gather her purse before Sara actually appeared in the doorway.

"Morning," Felicity answered.

"Saw Thea in the foyer. She says we're going shopping?"

Felicity smiled. "Not my idea, for the record."

Sara nodded slowly and turned her gaze on her feet for a long minute. The action stuck out to Felicity because there was a heaviness to it that she hadn't often seen from her bodyguard. The contemplative way she studied her shoes was hesitant.

"Thank you," Sara said at last. She raised her eyes to Felicity again.

"For what?" Felicity retorted in surprise.

"For going shopping. For taking an interest, even though she was kind of awful to you. Thea's a good kid, but she's had a hard time of it and I know she can be …"

"Hard to handle?" Felicity offered.

"Mean," Sara said.

Felicity thought of the many fights she'd had with her mother and swallowed uncomfortably. "It's easy to be mean when you're angry and in pain," she said quietly. "She told me about what happened to her mom this morning. That's a hard thing to live through without everything else going on. I'll be the last person to hold it against her."

"Felicity! Are you done yet or what?" Thea's voice echoed down the hall. "Raisa won't let us leave until we've eaten."

Felicity smiled at Sara, who rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

"I'm done, I'm done," Felicity answered as they left her room.

She wouldn't hold Thea's anger against her, but maybe she could find a way to help her through it. Maybe, just this once, she could make someone's life easier instead of the alternative.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I usually go for a word count when I'm writing each chapter. I don't consider a chapter finished until I've hit that word count - but I've decided not to do that anymore. I don't want to make you guys wait so long from chapter to chapter, and the spring semester starts for me on Thursday. In the interest of updating more often (and that I anticipate having less free time), the chapters will not be as long as they have been but will come faster (I hope). Also, thank you for your continued support of this story. It means a lot.

She managed to talk Thea and Sara into taking her Mini Cooper instead of one of the more expensive Queen family vehicles. Felicity loved her car and it was nice to be surrounded again by something that was entirely hers, and unconnected to the ridiculous charade her life had become.

Thea directed her to QC. Felicity didn't mention that she'd been there before and remembered how to get to the skyscraper; she just smiled and nodded and went where the other woman told her to go. The only time she'd been to the Queen Consolidated building she'd parked in an empty spot on the street, but Thea led them to the parking garage attached to one side. Thea clearly knew her way around her family's company.

Felicity was not from a wealthy family. Her mother had worked sixty-hour weeks in Vegas just to keep them afloat for most of her life, and she had paid for MIT through a slew of federal grants and scholarships. She was not accustomed to deference. The moment the three of them stepped into the ground floor of the Queen Consolidated building Felicity was thrown for a loop: people took notice of them. Some of them smiled brightly and some just tossed glances at them over their shoulders as they moved away, but they were undeniably noticed. The phenomenon was surreal for Felicity; Thea either didn't notice, or didn't care.

"Hi, Thea," the security guard at the checkpoint said as they approached. "Mrs. Queen."

"Hey, Aaron." Thea smiled and stepped through the metal detector without hesitation. The system beeped quickly.

Aaron grinned at her conspiratorially. "Weapons?" he teased.

Thea winked. "Class and crass."

This seemed to be some sort of running joke between them. Felicity didn't bother trying to understand it. She waited for Aaron to nod at her and then stepped through the metal detector. The security guard's demeanor toward her was respectful, but not nearly as warm as it had been with Thea. He warmed up again when Sara stepped through.

The difference struck Felicity hard. She had never met or seen Aaron the security guard before, and yet he treated her as though she were intrinsically different from him somehow. She couldn't help feeling as though she was an outsider – although from what, she didn't know. Was this what it was to be perceived as powerful?

Being noticed went against everything that Felicity had learned in the last few years. Walking through Queen Consolidated and feeling all those eyes watching her made her nervous in a way that was unexpected; she was unprepared for the way it made her skin crawl. Why were they staring at her? Why did they care who she was or what she was doing? The distance to Oliver's office felt impossible to cross under the attention, and she was immensely grateful when they stepped into the privacy of the elevator.

Then the elevator dinged and Felicity raised her eyes to find Oliver standing on the other side. His eyes narrowed in surprise, and the expression – the solidity and gravity of him – grounded her. Oliver knew who she was, and who she wasn't.

"Hi." Felicity's voice was shaky and breathless as though she'd just run through the office corridors rather than walked them normally. She hadn't meant to say anything at all, but the greeting had just slipped out.

"Hi," Oliver answered. His head tipped to the side ever so slightly. "You ok?"

Felicity nodded.

"Uh," Thea started in confusion. "We were just coming to see if you wanted to get lunch with us."

"I can't," Oliver answered. "I have another meeting in ten minutes. I was just heading downstairs, can I walk you out?"

Felicity might have noticed the way Thea visibly deflated or the disappointed way Sara was looking at Oliver if she hadn't been preoccupied trying to fend off the beginnings of a panic attack. She stepped back as Oliver stepped into the elevator on autopilot. The steel car was large enough to accommodate the four of them with ease, yet Oliver's presence filled it in a way that no one else's seemed to. He was a large man, but it was more than that: power radiated off of him like heat waves in such a small space. He was talking to his sister as the elevator descended and Felicity found herself taking a step closer to him, as if she could siphon off some of his unflappability for herself.

The anxiety rose to a fever pitch as the elevator stopped and deposited them on the ground floor again. Felicity tried to remind herself that the people in the building were just people and that it didn't matter if they stared at her. Why would they stare at her though? She pushed that thought away. It doesn't matter, she repeated. No one is looking at you. Stop freaking out.

If people had taken notice of her on the way into the building, they were definitely taking notice of her now. Felicity had walked several steps before she realized that it wasn't just her that was drawing attention, or maybe not her at all – it was Oliver. People moved out of his way even as they offered him their greetings, and occasionally extended those greetings to her and Thea.

They had to pass directly by the security checkpoint that they had just gone through on the way in. Felicity tried not to cast a glance at Aaron the security guard and failed: he was watching them openly. He wasn't glaring and he didn't look overtly sinister, the way the movies had always taught her to expect, but the way he studied them as they passed made Felicity's skin crawl.

A memory rose unbidden then of a night not long after Felicity and Donna had found themselves ensnared by her father, Angelo De Luca. If we can just keep our heads down long enough to not be noticed, Felicity had told her mother, I might be able to get us out of this. They had succeeded at first, until De Luca had realized the full extent of Felicity's technological prowess. Her father – and oh, how she hated to attribute that title to him, how it burned her from the inside out to know that they shared even a single strand of DNA – had taken something that Felicity had always been proud of and turned it in to something to be resented. Computers were her love and her safe place; they had helped her through all the hard times of her life because they were reliable and trustworthy, and now that haven that technology had created for her was tinged with regret. Why did she have to be good at something her father could exploit?

Keeping her head down had become a skill for Felicity. The less she was noticed the less the lackeys that worked for her father would make lewd comments at her; the quieter she walked the harder it was for the big men with twisted leers to pop around corners and surprise her with a gun pressed to the back of her head or nose. Chasing and scaring her had become a sport within the compound of the Italian mob, and the braver men would even pull the trigger with empty magazines or the safety on just to laugh at the way she flinched at the click. No one dared strike the Mafioso's daughter, but terrifying her had been idle fun.

The paparazzi the other night had been one thing. Oliver had warned her about them and gossip hunting was their job. Felicity had not expected the attention that was directed her way as she moved to the front doors with the others. She had not known to expect attention from regular people who were no different than her; naïve as it may have been, Felicity had never anticipated that she would become a thing to be stared at.

She was a fool.

Felicity was a blind, naïve fool, and the hairs on the back of her neck raised at nearly the same moment that something snagged in her ponytail and yanked her head backward with a cruel snap. She gasped painfully as her legs pin wheeled and tried to compensate for the sudden change in direction. Her heels clacked and slid unevenly over the polished floor as her assailant dragged her bodily into their chest. The hand that had been in her ponytail latched on to her throat as the muzzle of a gun was pressed against one of her kidneys, and she knew that this time the click of that gun would accompany a bullet.

"There's a pretty price on your head."

Aaron. Felicity had only heard him speak a few sentences, but she knew it was him. The bodyguard who had joked with Thea and smiled warmly at Sara was now holding a gun against her back. She swallowed and hated the way Aaron's heavy hand moved slightly with her Adam's apple as she did so.

"Why?" Felicity asked. She knew why.

"You have something that De Luca wants," Aaron hissed. "And he has something you want."

His words made her heart spin like a top in her chest. Her father knew about the information that she'd stolen. How? Had she tripped some sort of alarm in the computer system when she copied the files onto the thumb drive? Did he have another hacker that had found the trail she'd rushed to cover? Had … had he done something to her mother until she'd given up the information? No. Felicity dismissed that thought quickly. She hadn't told her mother about her plan to steal the files for exactly that reason.

Motion caught Felicity's attention. For the first time since Aaron had grabbed her ponytail she became aware of her surroundings. The ground floor of Queen Consolidated was empty, and her brain struggled with that fact first. Where had everyone gone? When had they gone?

"Let her go."

That was Oliver. Felicity had forgotten all about him, and his sister and Sara – both of whom were nowhere to be seen. Oliver was less than twenty feet from her and standing perfectly still with his hands at his sides. His expression was blank but Felicity thought that she saw a tick in his jaw as his eyes wavered from Aaron to her. Oliver was so calm, and she thought again of how solid his presence had been in that elevator and how she'd gravitated toward him. What Felicity would give for that same steadiness in her.

"How is it," Aaron called to Oliver, "That the daughter of a known mob boss ends up a thousand miles away and married to a billionaire?"

"Is that what you want? Money? A ransom?"

"Yes," Aaron answered.

"No," Felicity said. She made her voice carry as far as it would when her windpipe was at the mercy of a cruel hand. "He works for De Luca. He thinks I have …" The end of the sentence was cut off with a choked gurgle as Aaron pressed the expanse of his palm sharply into her windpipe.

Felicity heard sirens wailing in the distance.

"My orders are to bring you in alive," Aaron told her. Behind her, the gun cocked. "If I can."

Motion caught her eye again. She didn't turn her head but she strained her eyes trying to see as clearly as she could out of her peripheral vision: the motion was a person. Felicity looked back to Oliver, who had not moved.

"Your mother says hello."

Felicity had only had one lesson in self-defense with Sara. She knew nothing of martial arts outside of what she saw in the media; she'd never been in a physical fight in her life. The survival instinct that underwrote her existence knew nothing of these facts, however, and did not care what she was lacking. The will and fierce driving need to keep breathing – to fight for her life and her freedom – broke over her like a cresting wave.

Felicity locked her eyes on Oliver's face and drew one leg up into the air. With as much force and speed as she could muster, she drove her foot and the sharp stiletto heel that covered it down into the space where she thought (and hoped) that Aaron the bodyguard's foot rested. Her mind didn't have time to register the thought that she had missed before her foot met resistance; memories of dark laughter and the click of empty guns being fired gave her the resolve to follow through with the motion. Felicity could feel the pop of skin and muscle vibrate through her shoe and into her heel, but she would vomit over that later.

Aaron howled. The shock of pain made his hands convulse: the one on her throat squeezed and the one with the gun jerked and dragged the muzzle across her back until she couldn't feel it anymore. In a blind panic, Felicity raised her foot again and kicked out behind her. She struck something and lunged as soon as she felt the resistance, throwing herself against the hand at her throat and away from her attacker.

A dark mass passed her as Aaron's hand fell away and she catapulted forward. Felicity threw her hands out in front of her as she crashed to her knees and then a gunshot rang out; the span of a breath passed in which she thought that it wasn't a gunshot at all, but the sound of her kneecaps shattering as they met the floor. Then there was another gunshot, and silence.

"Felicity."

She flinched. A hand crept into her line of vision and Felicity turned her eyes on it. She followed the long fingers up over an arm covered in a gray sleeve, and then up, up, until she was looking into Oliver's face.

"Hey," he said gently.

Felicity sobbed once and then tried to swallow the sound. Oliver moved his hand slowly until it was cupping her cheek.

"Shh, it's all right. You're safe."

He was so put together, even now, and even though she could see a spot of blood blooming on the bicep of his other arm. "Oliver, you're shot."

"Hey, it's nothing."

Felicity wrapped her hand around the wrist of the hand that was pressed against her cheek. Oliver's pulse was rapid but steady and she tried to focus on counting the beats.

"Come on." Oliver dropped his hand from her cheek but didn't dislodge her hand from his wrist, or balk when she let it slip down and twine with his.

He helped her to her feet. Felicity made a great effort to look away from the floor; instead of seeing the building or Aaron – wherever he was and whatever had happened to him – she saw only Diggle. He had been the motion in the corner of her eyes.

"Stay still," Diggle told her kindly. "The police and EMT's are almost to the doors behind you. They'll be loud, but they won't hurt you, okay?"

Felicity nodded and watched mutely as Digg safed his weapon and then hit the button that released the magazine. The doors clanged open then and she threw her hands automatically into the air even as the police officers barked commands to do just that at them.

"Oliver?" Felicity's voice wavered.

"Yeah?"

She breathed deeply to ward off the bile that was trying to rise up her throat. Her knees ached fiercely and one of her high heels was probably coated in honest to God blood; Diggle's position in front of her undoubtedly blocked her view of a dead body. If she gave any of those things more than a passing thought she was certain that she'd start screaming until she lost her voice.

"Your office building really sucks."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some good Olicity interaction in this one, as requested. ;)

"You're a pain in my ass."

"Afternoon to you too, Detective Lance." Oliver turned his gaze over his shoulder to where the detective stood at the bumper of the ambulance.

"Let's be clear, Mr. Queen. If that man was sewing up a bullet hole in Sara's arm and not yours, we'd be having a much different conversation."

"We're having a conversation?" Oliver deadpanned. "And here I thought you came over just to threaten me."

"Don't make me arrest you, Queen. I hate doing paperwork."

The paramedic who had been quietly stitching and bandaging Oliver's arm set down his instrument and peeled off his gloves, drawing Oliver's attention.

"You're free to go, Mr. Queen."

"Thank you."

Oliver slung his suit jacket and shirt over his shoulder and climbed out of the ambulance. There was a small orange spot on the short sleeve of his undershirt – iodine, probably – but that and the bandage over his stitches were the only indications that this had not been a regular day for the Queen family patriarch.

"Where do you think you're going?" Quentin Lance groused when he started to walk.

Oliver didn't answer. He cut through the knots of paramedics and police officers that had gathered outside of the Queen Consolidated building with ease as Detective Lance followed closely behind him. He ignored the other man's presence and cast his eyes about in search of Digg, but he didn't change course. His friend would find him eventually.

He stepped around the back of the ambulance he'd been headed for and set his eyes on Felicity. She was grimacing and rolling her neck slowly from side to side, and had one hand massaging the muscles there.

"Hey," Oliver said softly. He cursed himself mentally for not calling out a warning of his approach the way that he'd noticed Sara did. He definitely needed to adopt that habit after today.

Thankfully Felicity didn't startle badly. She raised her head quickly and then groaned when the snap movement pulled at strained muscles. The blonde dropped her head a few inches toward her chest and then angled her chin toward him a little so that she could look at him without actually turning her head.

"Hey," she responded. "Are you okay?"

"Felicity." Oliver's tone was exasperated. "You're the one who was held at gunpoint."

"And you're the one who was shot."

"Cute," Lance interjected dryly. "You two are real cute."

Oliver was about to make a snide remark when a paramedic that he hadn't noticed before stepped out from the front area of the ambulance.

"You're wife is mostly unharmed, Mr. Queen. She has whiplash and some light bruising on her throat."

"She's also right here and fully capable of speaking for herself," Felicity said pointedly.

The paramedic looked genuinely surprised at her ire. "I meant no disrespect, Mrs. Queen. Talking to family members is part of my job."

Chastised, Felicity blew out a heavy breath. "Of course it is. Sorry. I didn't – never mind. I'm sorry."

"No problem, Mrs. Queen. You're free to go."

Oliver held a hand out for her as she stood and made her way to the bumper. Felicity didn't hesitate to slip her smaller hand into his and step down carefully; he thought maybe she would have kept a hold of it if Detective Lance hadn't extended his hand for her to shake as he introduced himself.

"Mrs. Queen, I'm Detective Lance," he said, and his tone was warmer than it had been with Oliver. "Glad to see you're all right."

"Hello, Detective." Felicity shook his hand. "Please, call me Felicity."

"Okay, Felicity. What can you tell me about the incident?"

"She's already given her statement," Oliver interrupted.

Felicity turned her head and then hissed. "Damn whiplash. How did you know that?"

Oliver shrugged. "I saw the officer leaving. And now if you don't mind, Detective, we'd like to go find my sister and go home."

"I've got an officer taking Thea's statement," Lance shot back. "Since it'll be a minute, what's the harm in asking a few more questions?"

"That depends. Are you going to threaten her with more of your conversational skills?"

Felicity scoffed. "You guys are giving me a headache. What is it with you two?"

"Detective Lance is Sara's father," Oliver explained.

At the same time, Lance said, "Oliver dated my daughters. Both of them."

Felicity paused and then started to nod before catching herself. "Uh huh," she muttered. "Well, as intriguing as this verbal sparring is, this has sort of been a nightmare of a day and I'm pretty sure there's, like, two inches of human blood and tissue on my shoe and even just saying that makes me want to vomit, and I'm seriously considering burning these when I get home and that really sucks because I love these shoes …"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupted softly. He wasn't unfamiliar with her rambles, but this one had taken on a note of rapidly growing hysteria.

Felicity tried to nod again and then made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat when she remembered that she couldn't. Her throat felt tight and the air was sitting oddly in her lungs; her eyes had started to burn.

On impulse, Oliver set a hand on her shoulder. Felicity took a deep breath and that shoulder moved under his hand. He recognized her attempt to steel herself and regain control, and the same impulse that had driven him to put a hand on her shoulder made him slide that hand across her back and to the other shoulder. A slight application of pressure had her half turning and stepping toward him until she could rest her forehead against his chest.

Oliver turned his attention back to Lance and asked politely, "Can this wait, Detective?"

Lance nodded. His acerbity had disappeared. "Sure."

Felicity turned her head slowly until her cheek was over Oliver's heartbeat and she could see the detective. "Sorry, Detective," she mumbled. "It was nice meeting you."

Quentin smiled kindly. "You got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. I'll call if we have questions."

Oliver watched Quentin Lance disappear into the crowd. Felicity still had her cheek pressed into his shirt and her breathing felt faster than normal, so he didn't move. A moment later he felt one of her slim arms slide around his waist and her hand curl into the material of his shirt.

"Is Thea okay?" Felicity asked. "And Sara? Digg? Where are they?"

"They're okay," Oliver assured her. "Sara got Thea out as soon as we realized what was happening."

They fell silent again. Oliver was not opposed to physical affection, and had been a rather tactile person before the island. Much of that part of his personality had been forgotten or repressed in the years between then and now, however, and so it was a little strange for him to find his arms now full of a small blonde. Having Felicity pressed against him was disarming: they had not touched often in the weeks since she'd arrived, and he was unprepared for how easily it came to him. His fake wife was still a stranger to him, but there was a disturbing lack of strangeness about having his arm around her.

"Everyone hanging in there?"

Oliver turned his head to look over his shoulder. Digg was approaching. He came to stand in front of them, and offered Felicity a small smile when she could see him.

"Fine," Felicity answered. "As long as I don't think about my shoes. Or the gun. Or anything that's happened in the last two hours, really. Whatever, you get the point."

Oliver squeezed her shoulders gently. "Felicity."

The breath she blew out was warm against his shirt. "I'm fine."

"Thea and Sara are headed this way. We're gonna have to face the paparazzi and news crews. Can't get the car in here."

At the mention of the other two women Felicity released her hold on his shirt and pulled away from him. Oliver didn't have time to contemplate why, because seconds after one person had let him go another one was latching on to him.

"Hi, Thea."

"Don't 'hi, Thea' me," his sister snapped. "You got shot, Ollie. Shot."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you threw yourself at me," he teased.

Next to him, Sara had pulled Felicity into a hug. "I'm so sorry," Sara was saying. "I didn't see him soon enough and when I did I thought he was just going to say something."

"It's not your fault," Felicity answered honestly.

Thea let go of her brother and swatted at Sara's arm until the other woman let Felicity go. For her part, Felicity was surprised when Thea took Sara's place and wrapped both arms around her neck in a tight hug.

"You okay?"

"Freaking out a little," Felicity responded. "And a little sore, but that's all."

Thea was visibly shaken when she stepped back. Felicity remembered the way the young woman had joked with Aaron when they were going through the security checkpoint, and the warm way that he had smiled at her.

"I'm sorry about your friend, Thea." She didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, well, people aren't always who you think they are." Thea was clearly uncomfortable and angry.

"True, but that's not always a bad thing," Felicity hedged. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't thinking that she wasn't the person Thea thought she was either.

"Anyway, why are you apologizing to me? You're the one he attacked. Why _did_ he attack you?"

Felicity's stomach rolled. Why had Aaron the bodyguard – and she really needed to stop calling him that – held a gun to her kidney? Because of the life she'd escaped, and the man who had claim to half of her parentage. Felicity couldn't tell Thea that Aaron must have been part of the Italian mafia, and that he'd been willing to kill her because he was ordered to do so. Well, she didn't know if that was true, really. He'd claimed that his orders were to bring her in alive, but he'd certainly been willing enough to kill her.

_There's a pretty price on your head_ , Aaron had said. _You have something De Luca wants._

"Money," Felicity finally answered. It was the truth, more or less. "He wanted money."

Thea made a disgusted sound. "Of course. It's always money."

"What else would it be?" Digg queried with wry amusement.

"I dunno. How about a lifetime supply of, like, kittens or something?"

"So let me get this straight," Sara said, "You want some crazy person to take someone hostage and demand a lifetime supply of kittens?"

Felicity recognized this: it was gallows humor. She'd used it back inside the building to fend off her rising panic, and Thea was probably using it now to do the same thing. The defense mechanism was an old one. What else was there to do when processing an event that felt impossible but make a joke of it?

Only, she knew what other kinds of things crazy people demanded of their hostages: work; and expertise; and skill; all of the things that her bastard father had eked out of her for the last few years.

Without thinking, Felicity said, "I'll be sure to suggest the kittens next time."

Four sets of eyes zeroed in on her with startling speed.

"Next time?" Thea repeated. "What do you mean, 'next time'?"

"Nothing," Felicity backpedaled. "I didn't mean anything. It was just a bad joke, and I said it without thinking, and can we please just go now? I really want to take a shower and get rid of these shoes."

"Your shoes?" Thea glanced at her feet.

Out of all of the things that had happened in the last few minutes – hours, somehow it was the innocent confusion on Thea's face that did Felicity in. She choked out a sob and veritably slammed a hand over her mouth to silence the sound, but it was too late. Her eyes burned and swam as tears fell heedlessly down her cheeks. The panic hit her suddenly, mercilessly, and Felicity bent over and started tearing at the strap of one of her heels. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hey," someone called.

Felicity sobbed. Purposely or not she'd chosen the heel that had stabbed into Aaron's foot, and the red smears of his blood stood out brightly against the matte silver stiletto. Her fingers were fumbling too much to undo the clasp on the strap; on the tail end of another sob, Felicity pulled viciously at the heel, but the offending material only dug into her skin and did not break.

"Felicity."

Strong hands curled over her shoulders and pulled her upright. She had to drop her foot to keep her balance and then she was pulled into a warm chest that smelled familiar. Wide, heavy arms banded around her back and pressed her firmly into another body.

Oliver.

She didn't realize she'd said his name aloud until he answered. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here, you're okay."

Felicity couldn't find the words to tell him that she might never be okay again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college is a pain in my ass. Just in case you were wondering.

Oliver said little on the drive home. In fact, the only sounds other than the almost syncopated breaths of the assembled group were the ones that issued from the radio. Every so often Sara would glance at him as if she somehow knew how tumultuous his thoughts were, and Thea kept trying to covertly check on Felicity - who had closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the head rest as soon as they'd piled into the town car – but no one spoke.

The attack on Felicity had made one thing clear to Oliver: he couldn't leave her in Starling City when he left for Russia in a few days, as he'd originally planned. That put a bit of a dampener on his plans while there, because Felicity knowing that he was Bratva was one thing, and involving her in the Brotherhood in any way was another thing entirely. She would have a measure of safety from them being his wife, but he wasn't comfortable putting her in potentially dangerous situations unnecessarily. Not to mention that the trip itself wasn't exactly a pleasure trip. So Oliver wasn't comfortable leaving her in Starling, but he wasn't comfortable taking her to Russia, and those were his only options.

Then there was also the dilemma that was Thea and her safety. While the attack hadn't been directed at her, she had known the perpetrator and been on a semi-friendly basis with him. Oliver hadn't had a chance to talk to Felicity privately yet, but he did remember her saying that the bodyguard had worked for her father. An operative of the Italian mafia had been on a first name basis with his sister, and Oliver had no way of knowing if their fledgling friendship had been an intentional play or not. Felicity's attacker was dead and Oliver had no way of asking him if De Luca knew of Thea and had instructed him to get close to the youngest Queen. From here on out he had to operate under these beliefs: that De Luca knew where Felicity was; that De Luca was willing to do anything to get her back; and that everyone – including Thea – was now in the line of fire.

The rabid media hounds were lined up along the drive to the front gate of the Queen mansion when they pulled through. Oliver spared a moment's thought for how he would have handled that as an irresponsible young man – he might have added peeing on a paparazzo to his count of peeing on a cop car – and felt lighter for a moment. Then he thought of the person that had been his partner in crime in those days and that momentary lightness disappeared.

He missed Tommy Merlyn.

The town car rolled to a stop.

"Felicity? We're home," Thea announced gently.

Felicity opened her eyes and lifted her head. She blinked hard and looked out the window before offering Thea a watery smile.

They piled out of the car one by one and headed to the door as a group. Felicity walked close to Oliver's side without seeming to realize that she was doing so, and no one called attention to it.

Felicity cleared her throat as they stepped into the foyer. "I'm gonna shower," she announced.

The others nodded, but Sara stepped forward and shucked her chin at the stairs in a silent invitation to lead the way. Felicity looked at her for a moment as if deciding whether or not she wanted the company, and then wordlessly started for her room with Sara by her side.

Thea turned her eyes to Oliver when they were gone. "Guess you're gonna go make business calls or something, huh?"

Oliver studied his sister. Without warning he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest so that he could press a kiss against her forehead. Thea wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I do have to make a few calls," he said after a pause. "But you can come sit in the office with me if you want. I bet we can even get Raisa to make us some of those turnovers you like."

"You mean the turnovers you like," Thea countered.

"Tomato, tohmahto. You like everything Raisa makes."

Thea rolled her eyes. Oliver smiled and made eye contact with Digg over his sister's head. One look was all it took to get Digg to nod in understanding and move away, and then Oliver led Thea into the home office with one arm still around her shoulders.

* * *

 

Thea had already gone to bed by the time Sara found him in the office. Oliver was idly tapping one end of a pencil against the desktop when her figure shadowed the doorway. He raised his eyes to her and watched as she leaned one shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her ankles. Neither of them spoke immediately.

This was one of the things that Oliver enjoyed and appreciated the most about his relationship with Sara. They understood each other well. Sara Lance was one of the few people in his life that Oliver was always certain of; they knew how to fight together, how to survive together, and even how to live together. Being around Sara was easy and uncomplicated.

"I never thought I'd say this," Sara started quietly, "But sometimes I miss the island."

Oliver sighed and nodded minutely as he leaned back in the leather office chair.

"It was easier. In some ways," he agreed.

"It was honest." Sara pushed herself off of the doorframe and crossed the room to perch herself on the edge of the desk next to him. "At least we knew that it was live or die."

"I don't think Felicity is under any illusions there."

Sara tipped her head to the side then, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she did so. "I was talking in generalizations. You're attracted to her."

"What?" Oliver asked in genuine surprise.

"You're attracted to Felicity," Sara restated. "Your thoughts went straight to her."

Oliver clenched his jaw in annoyance, but he couldn't say why. Was he annoyed at Sara, or the implication that he was attracted to his fake wife?

"Or maybe I thought you were referring to her in light of recent events."

Sara's features softened and she smiled lopsidedly. "There's nothing wrong with being attracted to her, Ollie. I'd be more surprised if you weren't."

"Whether or not I am doesn't make a difference, Sara. The last thing Felicity needs is one more problem on her plate."

Sara slapped his arm with little force and a lot of joviality. "Now I know you like her," she teased. "Being all noble and caring about what's on her plate."

Oliver leveled a glare at her. The look held for about ten seconds and then gave way to a breathy chuckle in the face of Sara waggling her eyebrows at him. Whereas the island had hardened Oliver and buried much of his humor and levity, Sara had never really lost hers. She had waited longer to return home – thanks, in no small part, to Nyssa and the League of Assassins – but sometimes Oliver felt that, of the two of them, more of Sara had returned. They were both broken, but Sara seemed to have found more of her pieces than he had.

"I don't think I could do it." Sara's voice was quiet and serious again. She only continued when Oliver raised an eyebrow in silent question. "What Felicity is doing, I couldn't do that."

"Yes you could," Oliver replied. "If you had to, if it was your family on the line? You could."

"I hope so. Obviously. But I'm not so sure. Before the island I was … I don't think I was a coward, but I wasn't aware of being brave, either. It takes a lot of courage and blind faith to do what Felicity did, and I don't think I had that. Still don't, probably."

"Blind faith? In what?"

"Hope." Sara shrugged. "People. Luck. God. Take your pick. She drove across the country to blackmail a man she'd never met, and you said yourself that she basically just begged for your help when she thought it wouldn't work. Do you know how terrifying that must have been for her? To believe in the basic humanity and goodness of a stranger who was under no obligation to help her? I'd say Felicity Smoak is remarkable, and we're lucky to know her. Fake wife or not."

Oliver made no reply. He stared at the wall across from the desk and thought of the way Felicity had swept into his office one evening a few months ago, looking for all the world as if she'd just run some invisible gauntlet. He could remember clearly the way she'd asked Digg not to shoot her; the way she'd stood so resolute in the face of the impossible and begged him to help her save her mother; and the way she'd trembled even as she'd faced off with him as if she could make him agree to her plan through nothing but the force of her will.

_How do you know I'm not just as bad as this man?_ Oliver had asked.

_I don't_ , Felicity had replied. _Call it a leap of faith._

No one had put that much faith in Oliver Queen in a long time.

"Thea is going to stay with Walter for a while," Oliver stated abruptly. "I realize that protecting her isn't your job, but I'd feel better if you went with her."

"What about Felicity?"

"I'm going to give her a choice, to either come to Russia with Digg and me, or go to Walter's with Thea. I don't want either of them in Starling City for the time being, and I can't put off the trip."

"Walter still in Central City?"

Oliver nodded.

"Of course I'll go, Ollie. You know I love Thea. How long will you be in Russia?"

"Two weeks, unless something else comes up while we're there."

"What reason did you give Thea for going?" Sara asked.

"I told her the truth, mostly. That I needed to make an appearance at the QC offices there, and that I thought it would be good for Felicity to get out of town for a while."

"When do we leave?"

"Two days."

Sara slid off the edge of the desk and gave his forearm a brief squeeze. "Guess I better pack. Unless you want me to stick around?"

Oliver shook his head in the negative. "Go home. Get some rest."

"Night, Ollie."

He watched her disappear out the door. Oliver sat in the still office for a few minutes longer with nothing but the heaviness of his thoughts to occupy him.

Digg popped by to let him know that he'd beefed up the night security detail and done an extra sweep of all the rooms and grounds. Oliver sent him home to Lyla with a tired smile and a lot of wordless gratitude for everything he'd done earlier at Queen Consolidated.

By the time Oliver made his way up the stairs and toward his bedroom he had a headache. The pressure in his head apparently called out an answering twinge in the bullet wound in his arm, and both of those things irritated him.

He was surprised to see, when he was close enough to do so, that Felicity's bedroom door was still open. Oliver had been pacing the office downstairs on a teleconference for several hours and so had missed dinner, but Thea had made sure to tell him that Felicity hadn't come down for the meal either. He should have asked Sara how the other woman was doing before she'd left for the night.

Oliver stepped slowly toward the open door. "Felicity?" he called softly.

There was no answer. He hesitated for the span of a breath and then moved into the room. The only light was coming from the television across from the bed. The screen flashed brightly and when he looked Oliver saw the menu display for one of the Avengers movies. There was no sound so the audio system must have shut itself off after so many minutes of inactivity.

Oliver took another step and found Felicity. She was lying sideways on the bed and fast asleep. Her hair was loose and fanned out over the pillow that she'd crumpled up underneath her head, and the toes of one foot peeked out from beneath the duvet. Her toenails were painted bright silver. There was a tray of half eaten food on the desk against the wall.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. Felicity was asleep and yet still somehow managed to look tired. No, not tired, Oliver reasoned, but weary.

The idea of a world-weary Felicity felt wrong to him. This woman had been living in a state of protracted Hell for – well, he didn't know how long – and had still managed to charm everyone around him within a matter of weeks. The people closest to Oliver were well on their way to adoring Felicity, and he doubted that she had any idea. That she should be so young and so downtrodden didn't sit well with him. Twenty four year olds should be out at hip bars with their friends, or traveling the world, or doing something equally fun and adventurous; they shouldn't be running from crime lord fathers and bargaining for the rescue of their loved ones.

Oliver stepped to the wall and turned off the television and Blu-ray player. He was momentarily confused when the room wasn't plunged into complete darkness and turned to see where the remaining light was coming from. He was shocked to realize that Felicity had left the adjoining door open, and that the light was coming from a desk lamp in his room.

Felicity had never left her bedroom door open and unlocked over night, much less the one that connected their rooms. Oliver stood and stared from one to the other uncertainly. Had she meant to leave them open, or just fallen asleep before she remembered to close and lock them? Should he close them for her?

After much internal debate, Oliver quietly closed and locked her bedroom door. He stepped through the connecting door and into his room, but stopped in the middle of closing that one. A quick look into the room he'd just left showed the faint outline of Felicity's small form under the blanket; she hadn't stirred.

Yes, Oliver was attracted to Felicity. This person who had begged for his help and protection and yet demanded none of his attention intrigued him; he was confused by how easy he found it to be around her, to hold her as if she was more than a stranger. More than that, Oliver admired her. Her physical beauty was no small thing, and yet it was the least of everything that made up Felicity Smoak.

Oliver convinced himself that he was leaving the door between their rooms ajar for Felicity, in case she had left it open on purpose to reassure herself that he was there. He ignored the snide voice in the back of his mind that wanted to ask why he thought his presence would reassure her.

As he set to undressing for the night, Oliver acknowledged that he was starting to care about Felicity. She was quickly coming to mean something to him (never mind that he wasn't certain exactly what that something was), and that was not a good thing. That was a dangerous thing.

The people who meant something to Oliver always ended up hurt or, worse, dead. The last thing that Felicity Smoak needed was a place in his heart.

Not that Oliver thought that was happening, because it wasn't.

Not even close.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I found out today that I got the part time job I applied for. That's a good thing for the money situation, but not necessarily for the writing situation. I'm now a full time mother and student with a part time job - I'm sure you can imagine what that does to my free time. I hope you guys will stick with me and this story, but be patient. I can't promise quick updates.

Felicity stretched until her hips and shoulders burned. She couldn't remember having any dreams – or nightmares – but she had woken curled in on herself and laying the wrong way across the bed. When she glanced at her clock she was surprised to see that it was nearly eight in the morning.

The blonde slid to the end of her bed and then crossed to her en suite bathroom to brush her teeth. The smell of fresh coffee hung in the air like a cloud of caffeinated perfection, and she couldn't wait to get downstairs for a cup.

When her teeth were clean and she'd smoothed a hand through her mussed hair, Felicity stepped out of her bathroom to see that the door that adjoined her room and Oliver's was slightly open. Her heart did a thrilling swan dive out of her chest cavity and into her stomach. Felicity was taken aback to realize that it didn't do so out of fear, but something that was close to excitement.

She had left the door open on purpose. Though she knew that the Queen mansion was safe, a part of her had been badly shaken by the attack at the Queen Consolidated building; it had made her feel marginally better to see the open door and know that Oliver would be close at hand while she slept. Felicity had been too tired to contemplate why Oliver's presence would make such a difference.

Now, Felicity found herself approaching the door cautiously and wondering why Oliver had left it open when he'd clearly started to close it. What had stayed his hand? Why hadn't he closed it all way?

She put a palm against the cool wood of the door and hesitated. What if he was asleep? What if he wasn't dressed?

"Oliver?" Felicity called.

A few moments of silence passed before the dull thud of footfalls reached her ears. Felicity took a step away from the door just as Oliver pulled it open. The lines of his face were still softened from sleep and his expression was open, but it didn't appear that she'd woken him. He was also shirtless, which was about four shades of unfair if Felicity was being honest.

Oliver's chest was wide and finely muscled; this close to him, she could easily discern the patchwork of scars and tattoos that decorated his front. The scars looked brutal and yet there was also something captivating about them. Felicity couldn't find them beautiful when they obviously bore witness to such pain, but they were certainly something. Scars like Oliver's would have made another man look terrifying.

Terror was the last thing Felicity felt in that moment.

When she finally forced her eyes off of Oliver's chest and onto his face she felt as though she'd been dropped off of a skyscraper. The air was everywhere but in her lungs, where she desperately needed it to be. They were standing so much closer than she'd first realized, and his gaze was piercing.

Why did his eyes have to be so damn _blue_?

"Everything okay?"

Felicity barely contained the exasperated groan that tried to claw its way out of her throat. _No one_ should sound that sexy. No one should _be_ that sexy; it was cruel.

"I … thank you," she fumbled. "For this." Felicity waved her hand in a small motion that she meant to indicate the open door and realized belatedly that, with Oliver standing in the doorway as he was, she was actually waving at him. Horrified, she tried to correct herself. "Not 'this' as in this, I'm not thanking you for being half naked or anything – not that being half naked bothers me, I just … I meant the door. Thank you for the door."

One of Oliver's eyebrows inched slowly toward his hairline. Felicity closed her eyes and begged the floor to swallow her whole.

Apparently a shirtless Oliver Queen short-circuited her brain. Damn him.

She cleared her throat determinedly and then opened her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she said, "Thank you for leaving the door open."

For a second Oliver merely stared at her. Then his lips parted ever so slightly and a puff of air slipped passed his lips in a breathy chuckle. The grin that lingered in its wake was stunning.

Felicity was calling it now: shirtless, smiling Oliver was a religious experience. She might have to build a shrine.

"I'm glad you're up," Oliver replied. As per usual, he sailed right past her verbal gaffe. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"You do realize that's one of the worst ways to start a conversation, right?" Felicity queried. "If you were my boss I'd think you were about to fire me."

"Never," Oliver answered.

He didn't joke often, but Felicity caught the undercurrent of humor and smiled.

"Thea is going to spend some time with her step-father in Central City. I've asked Sara to go with her."

"Her stepfather?" Felicity repeated, stressing the first word.

Oliver tipped his head to concede the point. "My mother married Walter after I disappeared. He and Thea are close, but he and I didn't interact much. Walter and my mother separated a few months before she was killed."

Felicity nodded slowly. Oliver had been with his father on the Queen's Gambit when it sank in the South China Sea, and he had been an adult when he'd returned to Starling City. This Walter person must have fulfilled a father's role for Thea, but of course he wouldn't have been able to do so for Oliver. Felicity didn't blame Oliver for thinking of Walter as only Thea's surrogate parent.

"So Sara and Thea are going to Central City," Felicity prompted.

Oliver sighed. He moved away from the door and back into the heart of his room, nodding quickly in an invitation for her to follow. Felicity did so. She felt breathless again for a second when she thought that he might lead her to sit on the edge of his rumpled bed – although why that should make her breathless when they'd sat together on her bed was a mystery – but he didn't. Instead, he led her to the couch across from the fireplace.

"Digg and I are leaving for Russia in two days, which is also when my sister is leaving. You have a choice: you can either go to Central City with them, or come to Russia with me."

Felicity stared at him. This was not what she'd been expecting when Oliver had said that he wanted to talk to her. She'd thought that maybe he wanted to ask her about the attack, or if she'd ever seen her attacker with her father, but no. It wasn't that at all.

"Russia," she repeated dumbly. Then, with sudden comprehension she said, "This has something to do with the Bratva, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Oliver didn't elaborate.

"How long?"

"Two weeks, at least. Thea and Sara will probably stay with Walter longer."

She didn't say anything. Two weeks in Russia and in close proximity to the Russian mafia was a terrifying prospect. Icy fingers of dread clawed at her stomach even thinking about it. Felicity had barely escaped the Italians on her home turf, and now Oliver was asking her if she wanted to face the Russians, in Russia? No. No, she didn't; she didn't want anything to do with any of them ever again.

That would be easier to do if she hadn't bargained for a fake marriage to a high-ranking member of their order, or if her Mafioso father wasn't currently holding her mom prisoner. That was the difference, though: she had faced her father alone, and she had been the target. Digg and Oliver would be with her in Russia, and no one would know her as anyone but Mrs. Felicity Queen. She couldn't, in good conscience, tell herself that she wouldn't be a target for the Russians because she had no way of knowing that. Power plays were brutal, ruthless things in such circles. Felicity understood that her title as the Queen matriarch might endanger her as much as shield her in such a situation.

Felicity trusted Sara; she liked her. Logically, though, she knew that her odds were better with Digg and Oliver. They both knew how to fight, and if it came down to it the two of them only had her to protect. If Felicity went with Sara and Thea and something happened, there was only one trained fighter per two people to protect.

Then again, the idea of leaving the country while her mother was still at De Luca's mercy made her feel panicky. Felicity was separated from Donna as surely now as she would be in another country, but the idea of putting a literal ocean between them needled at her. The attack on her had made it clear that Felicity couldn't afford to lose any more time on figuring out how to get her mother away from the Italians. She had to find a way to use the information she'd stolen. The question was whether or not that'd be easier to do surrounded by people who did not know the truth of her situation, or in another country on the doorstep of a rival mafia.

Felicity fixed her eyes on Oliver. He had sat quietly beside her while she considered all of her options, and he returned her gaze without reproach. He didn't appear at all impatient or irritated with her protracted silence.

The realization that she had come to trust Oliver didn't fully settle in Felicity's mind until she asked him, "What do you think I should do?"

Her question surprised him, but Oliver had spent too long cultivating his stoicism to let it show. With perfect aplomb he said, "I think I can protect you better if you're with me."

Felicity nodded as if she'd expected that answer. "I'll find my passport."

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and started to worry it as she stood and made her back to her room absent-mindedly. Maybe Oliver knew someone in Russia that could help her find a way to leak the information on her father; maybe Oliver could think of something that she hadn't.

Felicity was halfway to her room when it occurred to her that she'd never actually asked Oliver for his help. She had asked him to protect her mother in the event that Felicity got her away from De Luca, but she hadn't asked him to help her achieve that goal.

She spun quickly on her heel. "Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you help me save my mom? I know I asked you to protect her, but that only works if she's here. And I don't know how to give the cops the information I stole without putting my mom in danger, and I don't know how to get her out of danger. I thought maybe you might have some ideas, or know someone in Russia who can help?"

"Do you still have that flash drive with all the information on it?"

Felicity nodded.

"Bring it with you. We can go over it with Digg. And I might know someone who can help."

"Thanks, Oliver."

It was only when she was in the shower an hour later that Felicity realized that she had never considered that Oliver might have refused to help her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this chapter right up until I got ready to upload it, and then I thought about rewriting it entirely and saving this one for a later chapter. Truthfully though, I don't have the time for that and you guys have been waiting for the next chapter for weeks, so ... I hope it doesn't feel wildly out of place.

Felicity was no stranger to flying. Las Vegas being the hub city that it was, flights from one end of the country to the other were surprisingly affordable; though she had not gone home to visit often, she had taken advantage of those cheaper prices a handful of times while she was in college so that she could fly home to see her mother. Donna had even come out to see her daughter once (which Felicity still privately referred to as The Trip).

Flying in itself was not a new experience for Felicity; flying in a private jet over the ocean with only the pilot, her husband, her husband's bodyguard friend and a skeleton flight crew, however, was definitely new. For one thing, there was so much room. A row of immaculately tooled leather captain's chairs lined either side of the cabin. There were only eight in total, and they were grouped by twos and turned to face each other over a small, shared table. The lack of seats meant that Felicity and Oliver could have walked side by side down the aisle if they chose to. The rear of the plane housed a queen-sized bed, which Oliver had offered her the use of if she wanted to sleep on the flight. Felicity had thanked him and thought nothing of it.

Until now, three hours into the trip. She had been staring at her tablet and brainstorming how to leak the information on her father when it had occurred to her wonder what would happen if she chose to take a nap on that bed – and Oliver wanted to do the same. Felicity had started to push the thought away, because that probably wouldn't happen (and so what if it did, they were adults and could share a bed like civilized people) when another one had occurred to her: they would soon be surrounded by the Russian mafia, all of whom would see her as being in a position of power. She would be Mrs. Queen to them and nothing else. The farce that she and Oliver were keeping up would be even more important to maintain in Russia than it was in Starling City. As such, it wasn't unreasonable to think that they would be sharing a bed while there. They hadn't actually discussed the sleeping arrangements, but as Felicity thought of it now she felt certain that such would be the case.

All right, Smoak, Felicity silently coached herself, time to be Mrs. Queen in earnest now.

She spent the next several hours of the flight making sure that she knew the basics. Felicity made sure that she knew the names of Oliver's parents and when they died; Oliver's birthday as well as Thea's; where Oliver had gone to school (including all four colleges he attended); and any other public information she felt a person should know about their spouse. When she felt satisfied with those efforts she called Digg over and started asking him things like how long he'd been working for Oliver and how the two had met.

"Smart," Diggle said when they reached a lull in the questioning. "The more familiar you are with the answers, the less rehearsed they'll sound if someone asks the questions."

Felicity smiled winningly at the bodyguard. The two of them had developed quite the rapport after the night of Felicity's panic attack, and the physical attack that had followed not long after. In actuality, as terrible as the incident at Queen Consolidated had been – and Felicity was still dealing with the fallout from that, as it had only been a few days – it had also served the unintended purpose of bringing her closer to the new people in her life. Thea and Sara had both hugged her before setting off for Coast City.

This makeshift family full of ragtag characters was starting to grow on Felicity in ways that she had not, and could not have anticipated.

She chatted with Digg for a few more minutes, but she knew that she couldn't put off the last part of her plan for much longer. Now that she had a handle on the basic information, Felicity had questions that only Oliver could answer – and they were embarrassing sort of questions. Knowing that she had to ask them wasn't the same as knowing how to ask them, so the part of her brain that wasn't engaged in talking to Digg started trying to work out how to accomplish such a thing.

Five minutes later the only tactic she'd come up with was bluntness: just come right out and ask her questions. So what if it was awkward? Felicity was the queen of unexpected and out of place rambles – awkward was practically her middle name.

"Felicity?"

Felicity startled in her chair. Digg was studying her closely and couldn't decide if he should worry about her momentary lapse in attention, or tease her about it.

"Everything okay?" Diggle asked.

She nodded. "Fine. Just … there are some things that I want to ask Oliver, and I'm not really sure how."

"I'm a big fan of honesty. Just ask him whatever it is and go from there."

As if summoned, muted footfalls preceded Oliver's voice. "Behind you."

Felicity barely had time to turn her head before her husband appeared next to them. "What?" she queried.

"I'll leave you to it," Digg hedged. He gave her an encouraging half-grin and excused himself.

"What, what?" Oliver repeated as he took up residence in the chair across from her that Digg had vacated.

"You said 'behind you'. I thought you wanted me to look at something."

Oliver huffed in amusement. "Just giving you a heads up."

"Oh, okay," Felicity said with a nod. Then she paused.

He was giving her a heads up? How long had he been doing that? Felicity knew that Sara had adopted that habit some time ago to keep from surprising her – was that why Oliver was doing it now? Had Sara told him to? True, Oliver had never deliberately snuck up on her, but he'd never made such a blatant effort not to, either. Except, now that she thought about it, Felicity was certain that Oliver had been announcing his presence to her for some days now. She just hadn't noticed it before.

A warm and strange flush blossomed in her stomach without warning and rose up until her cheeks felt like they were on fire. The effort was certainly a sweet and considerate one, but why did it make her feel so … whatever it was she was feeling?

"Kissing," Felicity blurted. "How do you feel about kissing? Not in general, of course. Me. I mean, how do you feel about kissing me? Wait! That's not … Well, I …"

There was no amusement to be found in Oliver's expression now. No, whatever lightness there had been in his countenance moments ago had been replaced with something feral. His pale blue eyes were watching her as though he might leap across the table between them and snap at her at the slightest provocation. Felicity licked her lips nervously.

"Let me start over. I want to be clear about the boundaries for this … for our time in Russia. Physical boundaries. I don't know how the Russians are, but someone might find it a little odd if we claim to be married and don't touch each other." Felicity tried to ignore how dirty that last part sounded. She failed, and her blush deepened. "Right, so, boundaries. For physical stuff. What are yours?"

Don't cringe, Felicity lectured herself. You are an adult and you're going to act like it.

That became harder to do and remember as long seconds passed without any reply from the man in front of her. Felicity could physically feel the urge to ramble creeping up on her and pressed her lips together tightly to contain herself.

Oliver started speaking then, but his words were not in answer to her question. "I know you understand how dangerous these people can be, Felicity, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. I have friends in Russia, but I have enemies as well, and they'll see you as -."

"A target," Felicity supplied quickly, picking up on his train of thought.

Oliver nodded. "Or a threat," Oliver finished.

"A threat?" she repeated. "I'm a lot of things, Oliver, but threatening isn't one of them."

Oliver leaned forward and braced himself on the table on his forearms. "You're my wife."

No, she absolutely _did not_ feel the urge to shiver at that; and no, that sentence _did not_ hold any sort of magical power (over her or anyone else); and no, that _was not_ a shade of possessiveness in Oliver's tone. No, no, and no.

Felicity had no idea that she'd unconsciously started to lean forward, but Oliver did. He watched as her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted even as her shoulders began to dip forward; her attention was fixed on his face, but he could feel the distance between them lessening with every second as if the movement was an electric current running just below his skin. Oliver knew that he should be pulling away from her now that she was so close, but he didn't. He watched her expression change and her eyes drop once to his lips, quickly, before darting back up to fix on his. He had seen the look of nearly imperceptible surprise – and dare he say, pleasure? – that had moved over her face at his words, and had clenched his hands to keep from reaching for her. He hadn't wanted to kiss someone so badly in a long time.

"As my wife," Oliver started, and then paused. There was an unexpected but undeniable thrill of something that ran through him at the words, and at the way Felicity reacted to them. "You have a lot of power," he continued. "Over my family, my company, and me. People will try to gain favor with me through you, or power. They'll look for weaknesses."

"In me?" Felicity queried. Then she answered herself, "Of course, in me."

"And me," Oliver added. "In us. They'll watch for signs that suggest we're at odds and then try to worm their way in."

Some of the tension went out of Felicity then and her shoulders drooped, followed by her head. The movement brought her even closer to Oliver where he was still perched on his arms, and if he bent his head down ever so slightly and moved just a hair's breadth forward he'd be kissing the back of her head.

"Everyone knew I hated my father," Felicity mumbled. She brought her hands up to cover her face and support the weight of her hanged head. "There was no getting between us because there was no us. I was important because I had useful skills, but I didn't have any power. I didn't matter. I was there for so long I forgot what it was like."

Felicity was afraid. She knew what it was like to be someone's boss in an average, regular kind of day job; she knew what it was like to be smarter than other people; and she knew what it was like to have power in the digital world, but this was none of those things. This was power on a grand scale and in a shadowed part of the world that few people knew of and even less spoke of. This was a million light years over her head and out of her league, and screwing up would have real consequences that would affect people other than herself.

Oliver was finding himself doing strange things around this woman. Against his judgment (but at the command of everything else in his being), he lowered his head until his lips brushed over the pale strands of hair just above her ponytail.

Quietly, oh so quietly, he said, "You matter."

Felicity Smoak mattered to her mother, and now she mattered to Oliver. Maybe she shouldn't have, and maybe some small part of him didn't want her to, but that didn't change the fact that she did. People who mattered to Oliver got hurt, sometimes by him and sometimes by others, and he didn't want that for Felicity. She'd been hurt enough.

Felicity mattered; her happiness and general well being was worth something to him. The problem that created was this: things with worth could be used as currency against those that valued them.

Felicity pulled her hands away from her face and lowered them slowly until they came to rest on Oliver's forearms. His words rattled around in her mind like loose change: "you matter". Words like those were dangerous when they were whispered into her hair, as intimately as though they were other than … well, them. Things like "you matter" and "you're my wife" made her forget for a moment that there was a line between them, and that they weren't really the lovers they were claiming to be.

She felt the corded muscles of Oliver's arms beneath her hands; she felt the warm skin. Felicity held her breath and thought she was falling, or maybe that she was on the verge of bursting, and slowly raised her head.

"You matter," Oliver had said, and she did. She mattered to him, at least in some way, and she mattered to her mother; she mattered to Sara, and Thea, and even Digg. All of the people that she should have meant nothing to, and yet did; her father, whom she should have mattered to even more, and yet didn't.

Felicity couldn't decide if she was hurtling forward at the speed of light, or moving as though she was in a sea of molasses; all she knew was that she was moving. The distance was miniscule and it took almost no movement to bring her forward until her lips brushed softly over Oliver's.

It was more of a touch than a kiss, and Felicity hesitated long enough to take a breath. Then she pressed another, firmer kiss to Oliver's mouth; her heart seemed to fly out of her chest and the sudden surge of adrenaline made her gasp.

Gasp wasn't the right word. Oliver somehow managed to remain still right up until the moment Felicity's lips parted against his and she inhaled a quick breath of air; the sound she made was more like a hitch in the back of her throat. The sound was quiet and innocuous, and it drove all of Oliver's self-control straight into the ground.

His arm slid out from beneath one of her hands in an instant and he caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Felicity's lips were still parted as Oliver's descended, and she barely had time to realize that he was kissing her before his tongue slid over her bottom lip and into her mouth. This time the sound that left her throat was definitely a gasp.

Falling and bursting and power plays were all forgotten then. There was only the feel of Oliver's fingers angling her chin just so, and the rough but satisfying scratch of his stubble against her skin. Kissing him felt instinctive and compulsory. The hand of Felicity's that still rested on Oliver's forearm slid over the crook of his elbow and curled around the back of his bicep to pull them closer together.

The plane abruptly hit a pocket of turbulence. The small jolt was enough to pull them apart, but before either of them had the chance to register what had happened the plane experienced another sharp drop.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Queen," the pilot's voice said over the intercom. "We've encountered some bad weather. Might wanna buckle up and get comfortable for a bit."

The words registered with Felicity, but it took her a few seconds to sort out what they meant. When they had and she'd secured her seat belt she lifted her eyes to find Oliver already settled and watching her with an unreadable expression.

She should have been thinking about the nerve-wracking pockets of turbulence they kept hitting intermittently, or the rather terrifying situation that awaited them on the ground, or any other number of things – but she wasn't. Instead, Felicity was trying to decide if something between her and Oliver had just ended … or started.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five more weeks until the semester is over and more regular updates can resume. Hang in there with me.

By the time they disembarked from the leer jet it was already well into the evening. Felicity was thankful for the darkness because she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open and there was less to see without the influence of daylight; also, she didn't want anyone's first impression of her to be a dead-on-her-feet zombie rather than … well, whatever first impression she usually gave off. Assuming that it was a good one, anyway.

Felicity, Diggle, and Oliver all climbed into the backseat of the limo that was waiting for them in the hangar. Oliver gave their driver the name of their hotel and settled deeper into the leather seat as his eyes traveled over an obviously exhausted Felicity. He hated international travel, but he at least knew what to expect; Felicity looked as though it was all she could do to keep her chin from drooping against her chest. Oliver hadn't thought to ask if she'd ever been out of the country before.

He hesitated for a breath before lifting the arm closest to Felicity in invitation. His wife noticed the motion and gave him a confused look until it occurred to her what he was doing. Her confusion melted into consternation and uncertainty. Oliver was about to put his arm down and curse himself for acting like a fool when the petite blonde slid over and tucked herself into his side without a word. He felt Felicity sigh, and then the car began to move.

When Oliver had draped his arm over her shoulders and his hand had come to rest on her upper thigh – and he hadn't considered where it would be until he felt the warmth of her leg under his hand – he lifted his eyes to find Diggle staring at him. Oliver stared back and willed his expression not to give anything away.

Tired as he was, Oliver couldn't stop his thoughts from moving at a million miles a minute. As the lights of Moscow sped by out the window, the Queen family patriarch found himself wondering what new dangers awaited him in the city. Awaited them, he corrected himself, because Felicity was with him and he did not doubt that his enemies would target her. They would try to use her, and Oliver would be damned if he let that happen. He was a smart man and he knew it, but there was no getting around the fact that he would have to tell his wife why they were really in Russia. He could sidestep the truth, and even if she thought to ask he knew enough of her to know that she wouldn't push, but that would only endanger her further. Felicity wasn't a fighter but she was a genius, and the best armor he could give her was knowledge. Besides, they were already in the trenches together, what with their fake marriage and hidden ties to separate mafia families … he could trust her with another secret.

Oliver turned his head to gaze down at the woman asleep against him. All the pain and horror that she had lived through, and it had only made her kind; yes, he could trust her with another secret, and with every secret after that, because he could trust Felicity with everything. One of the things he was quickly coming to understand was that the less that she asked for the more he was willing to give her; the more he wanted to give her.

He nudged her gently when their car pulled up outside the hotel. Felicity sighed heavily and murmured something that sounded like an emphatic no, so he rubbed his hand over her thigh thoughtlessly. She turned her nose into his neck.

Oliver caught Diggle's expression out of the corner of his eye. He chose to ignore it.

"We're here," Oliver murmured.

"I'll sleep in the car," Felicity groused.

Oliver hadn't anticipated that Felicity might be one of those people who woke up like a bear, all angry growls and sour expressions, but it made him smile. He scooted slightly toward the door, and the movement pushed his hip into hers and jarred her. Felicity grumbled; Oliver's smile widened.

"Get out of the car," he instructed with little heat.

She finally peeled her eyes open and glared at him as though he'd just instituted a lifetime ban on coffee drinking. Oliver was struck with the knowledge that he wanted to kiss her again, right there in front of John and with her hair mussed on one side from being pressed into his shoulder. Instead, he tipped his head toward the door that was being opened for them.

"There's a real bed waiting for you on the other side," Oliver said encouragingly.

"Unless I can fall out of that door and straight into it, then I don't care."

Oliver laughed. Felicity's glare could have melted steel and she muttered darkly to herself about something that sounded like "door side bed service", but she unfolded herself from the seat and stepped out.

Before the island, he would have given Felicity a run for her money in the department of grumpy to wake. Now it wasn't so much that Oliver woke happily, but that he'd lost the ability to wake slowly. He didn't have time to be grumpy: he went straight from being asleep to wide awake and on alert. Although Thea had told him more than once that his usual sour mood upon waking had transferred to his default mood for everything. She was generally miffed at him when she said it, though, so he ignored the barb.

When he had climbed out of the limo and done a cursory glance of the area, Oliver laid a hand against the small of Felicity's back and moved them into the lobby. The room was big and lavishly furnished, but more importantly it was largely vacant. Oliver hadn't expected to be accosted upon arrival, per se, but being in Russia always put him on edge. This was not his country and he had made some powerful enemies over the years. Whatever he told the public, he would never consider time here as a vacation.

The concierge at the desk was expecting them. He started smiling before they reached the counter, and addressed Oliver before he had a chance to open his mouth.

"Mr. Queen? Good evening and welcome back to Moscow, sir."

The muscles of Felicity's back tensed and shifted under Oliver's hand as if to turn, but he arrested the motion with a press of his fingers.

"Thank you," Oliver answered.

The concierge handed two room keys to Oliver and made sure to make a point of mentioning that they were staying in two of their best suites. From the corner of her eye Felicity saw Diggle shake his head minutely. She wondered if his reaction was a result of the obsequious manner of the man behind the counter, or the fact that Oliver had put him up in a suite. Diggle had never given any indication that he cared one whit about wealth, and for all the time he spent around Oliver he didn't seem like the suite type of person. Everything about John Diggle was understated.

Diggle was in bodyguard mode as they moved through the lobby and into the elevator. Only when the doors had closed and the three of them were alone did he turn a wry expression on Oliver.

"Man, how many times have I told you I don't want a suite?"

Felicity smothered a smile.

"How many times have I ignored you?" Oliver returned.

This time Felicity smiled openly. She was becoming more adept at interpreting Oliver and the way he interacted with people, and so she heard the faint tease lurking beneath the dry surface of his words. Oliver's relationship with Diggle was actually one of Felicity's favorite things to observe because there was such familiarity and ease between them.

When the elevator dropped them at their floor Diggle insisted on stepping off first and surveying the hallway before waving Oliver and Felicity forward. The same happened when they reached their suite: Diggle went in first and cased the rooms (which didn't stop Oliver from doing the same thing when they entered). A part of Felicity wanted to call their cautiousness overkill, but her experiences in her father's company stayed her tongue.

"Stay here," Oliver told her when they satisfied that the room was safe. "We're going across the hall to clear Digg's room. We should be back before the bellhop gets up here without luggage, but if we aren't, ask him to wait outside."

Okay, Felicity thought, this is starting to get weird. Checking the rooms she could understand – she still had nightmares about her father's lackeys jumping out at her around corners with their guns cocked – but not letting the bellhop in? Wasn't that going a bit far? Then again, she'd seen enough crime shows to know that the hitman dressed as hotel staff was apparently a recurring theme, so maybe it was going just far enough.

Partly out of habit and partly because of Oliver's warning, Felicity locked the door before kicking off her heels and stumbling into the bedroom. She barely noticed the rich linens and chic decorations; her eyes found the king size bed in the middle of the room and her feet carried her just far enough to fall onto it. The mattress was so soft and welcoming after the trans-continental flight that she groaned into the duvet.

"Traveling with beds," she muttered into the bedding. "That's the future."

Oliver found her not five minutes later, passed out in the middle of the bed and with her face turned toward the bedroom door. He panicked for half of a heartbeat until she sighed and pulled one of her arms against her chest.

A quiet knock alerted him to the arrival of the bellhop. Oliver closed the bedroom door behind him as he left and asked the man pushing the luggage cart to leave their suitcases in the foyer. They could rearrange them tomorrow.

He tipped the young man and then locked the room's main door. His unease at being in Russia and years of being on alert made it impossible for Oliver to consider returning to the bedroom until he had done a final check of the windows and doors.

He considered taking a shower to wash off the grime of travel until he opened the bedroom door again. All at once he felt run down and exhausted, as though his body weighed twice what it should. Felicity appeared so relaxed and comfortable on the big mattress, and all Oliver wanted to do was lay down next to her and pass out.

Oliver was halfway through pulling off his pants to do just that when it occurred to him that it wouldn't be smart to sleep next to her in just his boxers. As quietly as he could with dragging feet, he made his way back into the foyer to retrieve a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase.

Felicity hadn't moved when he returned. Her glasses were lying discarded on the duvet above her head, so Oliver retrieved them and set them carefully on the nightstand nearest her.

"Felicity," he called gently. She didn't answer so he tried again, and had the same result.

Oliver pulled the duvet back from the pillows on the side of the bed nearest the bathroom. When he was satisfied that it was out of the way he gently rolled Felicity onto her back and scooped her up into his arms.

"You sleep like the dead," he whispered as he stepped to the head of the bed. The words didn't sound as irritated as he'd meant them to.

Felicity made a sound that would have been silly at any other time and turned her head in against his shoulder.

"Beds," she murmured. Oliver glanced down at her, but she hadn't woken.

He lowered her onto the mattress and watched her curl onto her side as he pulled the duvet up around her shoulders. Felicity sighed.

Tomorrow Oliver would worry about what Russia had in store for them; tomorrow he would tell Felicity why they were here and what to expect, but tonight he was going to get some sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a week and a half left of the semester, guys. We're almost there!

Oliver hadn't woken beside someone in far longer than he wanted to admit, but he certainly didn't remember it being like this. Felicity, a woman half his size, was stretched over three-quarters of the king bed; the toes of one of her feet were digging into his lower back. He woke clinging to the edge of the bed and a triangle of duvet material.

Oliver was on his side so he tossed the slip of blanket off of him and simply rolled out of the bed. He stood and ran a hand through his hair as he surveyed the apparent battleground he'd just escaped: he didn't remember any restless moments during the night, but Felicity had somehow managed to damn near steal the bed out from beneath him.

He crossed his arms. In the last twenty-four hours Oliver had learned three things about his wife: she was a grumpy morning person; she slept like the dead; and she was a world-class bed hog. There was something reassuring about those things, and that made him smile. Considering the state of his life, Oliver enjoyed knowing that little things like being kicked out of bed by someone half his size were still a concern for him. The small moments of normalcy helped ground him.

Not that he was going to get used to sharing a bed with Felicity, because he wasn't.

Oliver left Felicity to her king sized domain, retrieved an outfit from his suitcase, and went to shower. He didn't need to look at a clock to know that it was early; the island had instilled in him a chronic allergy to sleeping in past six a.m. on any given day.

As he showered, Oliver made plans for the day (and a few back up contingencies, just in case). He wanted to talk to Felicity before they left the hotel, but they'd have to meet with Anatoly today. Dmitri Grekov would know soon enough that Oliver was in Moscow for the "meeting" and then things would certainly become … complicated. He needed to make sure that Felicity knew what to expect before that happened. The longer that Oliver had thought about it on the ride over the more convinced he'd become that it would be a grave error not to inform her of certain things.

When he was dry and dressed Oliver stepped out of the bathroom. The first streaks of morning light were seeping in around the edges of the blinds in shades of pale pink. He had started to step quietly toward the bedroom door when Felicity curled into herself enough to fix somewhat alert eyes on him.

"Jet lag sucks," she mumbled quietly.

Oliver nodded in agreement. Her blonde hair was spread out on the sheet behind her in lazy swirls; she blinked slowly.

"Any idea where my glasses ended up?"

"Night stand."

Felicity pushed herself up sluggishly and reached for said eyewear. She slipped them on and then pushed a hand through her hair and yawned. Oliver would never admit it, but groggy, just woken Felicity was sort of adorable.

"Did I kick you in my sleep?"

Oliver lifted a brow at her. "Repeatedly."

"Sorry. I've been told I'm kind of the worst bed partner ever."

He should not have felt anything out of the ordinary at that moment, but he did. Oliver's thoughts immediately jumped to who exactly Felicity might have shared a bed with, and he didn't like wondering how many of those people had been lovers. He didn't like wondering about her past lovers at all, in fact. Felicity's sexual past was none of his business. Being married didn't make them lovers.

Oliver's brow furrowed at the strangeness of that thought.

"I'd only know that if you'd share the bed."

Felicity responded to his teasing by sighing wryly and shooting him a heatless glare. "Funny," she quipped. "Keep making jokes like that and I'll make it a point to snore."

"You do," Oliver answered. He turned and started out of the room.

"I do not!" Felicity protested.

Oliver heard the rustle of sheets and then her soft footfalls over the carpet as she followed him. He didn't turn around until he heard a small "eep!" of surprise. A clearly stunned Felicity stood just outside the bedroom door in nothing but her shirt and a colorful pair of underwear.

That was unexpected.

"Where are my pants?" she asked in confusion. When she looked up and found Oliver's fixed on her she flushed all the way down to her toes and jumped back into the bedroom.

Oliver swallowed. "You had them on last night," he managed to reply.

Felicity groaned. "I must have kicked them off while I was sleeping."

A knock on the door pushed Oliver back into the present. He checked the peephole and opened it when he saw Diggle's stoic face on the other side.

"I'm only here for the coffee," Diggle said as he breezed past his boss.

"Coffee?" Felicity called out. "Will you make enough for me? I'm gonna hop in the shower. May as well, since I'm already mostly undressed anyway."

Oliver didn't have time to process her words before Digg was turning on his heel and leveling a dark look at him. Oliver opened his mouth to explain, or defend himself, but was interrupted.

Felicity's head appeared around the doorframe. "That wasn't what I meant. I mean, it was, but not in a sexual way. We didn't … we weren't …" Felicity had started waving a finger in the air between her and Oliver, but she stilled in the face of Diggle's silence. "I made it worse, didn't I?"

"Shower," Oliver said.

"Right." Her head disappeared.

Diggle didn't bother to look at Oliver as he moved to the coffee machine and started to prepare the pot.

"If she does that in front of Dmitri he'll eat her alive," Diggle said quietly after a moment.

"She won't," Oliver answered easily.

"You sure about that?"

"Haven't you noticed that she never rambles about anything important? How long has she been with us, Diggle, and yet we know next to nothing about her?"

Diggle made no reply.

"Give her some credit. She's been through Hell. She wouldn't have made it out if she couldn't keep a secret."

"This isn't just keeping a secret, Oliver. Dmitri is out for blood. Your blood, and now Felicity's by association."

"I know, Diggle." Oliver's voice slid out through clenched teeth. "Which is why I'm going to tell her everything."

"Oh?" Diggle asked in clear disbelief.

"As soon as she's out of the shower."

Oliver left Digg to finish making the coffee then. He called down for room service and then picked up his cell phone from where he'd left it the night before. He sent a text to Sara and Thea to let them know that they'd all arrived safely since he couldn't remember doing so the night before, and then he went in search of the secondary cell phone he used for dealings outside of his day-to-day life. He used that one to call Anatoly.

Anatoly was halfway through inviting Oliver and Diggle out for a drink when Oliver realized that he hadn't mentioned Felicity. He anticipated a little awkwardness when he told Anatoly of his marriage, but the Russian only laughed over the line.

"You know?"

"Of course I know," Anatoly laughed. "I like to read American tabloids."

"She's here," Oliver said then.

Anatoly stopped laughing. "Does she know why you are here?"

"Yes." Well, she would in about five minutes.

"Dmitri …"

"Won't be a problem," Oliver interrupted. "I won't let him near her."

There was a long pause. Then, "This is between you and your lady, yes? Bring her for drinks, tonight. I will meet this new Queen. We will talk more then."

The water had shut off sometime during Oliver's phone call, and Felicity emerged fully clothed just as he was hanging up. She was running a hand through her wet hair, which she had pulled over one shoulder, as she made for the coffee pot.

"Hmm, that smells good."

"It should, they charge enough for the rooms," Diggle retorted.

Felicity wasn't sure how to take his comment so she looked to Oliver, but her husband only rolled his eyes. One side of her mouth quirked up into a grin; Felicity didn't have siblings, but she imagined that Diggle and Oliver acted the way siblings did.

Oliver set his cell phone down on the coffee table and took a seat on one of the couches. He watched Felicity pour her coffee and idly took note of how she fixed it. She added enough sugar and creamer to make it sweet, the way Thea made hers.

The thought of his sister was a proverbial slap. His sister; his family; the reason they were in Russia.

Drinks with Anatoly.

"Felicity," Oliver intoned. "There are some things you should know."

Felicity's hair swayed around her in wet ribbons as she turned to face Oliver. His countenance was serious, but clear, and he was leaning forward with his forearms braced on his thighs. He looked … heavy; weighed down. This was not the Oliver she had glimpsed in the plane seat across from her, or the cautiously soft one who had offered himself up as a pillow. Neither was he the Oliver from that first night in his office, or any of the subsequent nights when he cajoled her and toed her boundaries just to see where they were; this was the man between the two.

No evident softness, but lacking the sharp edges.

Felicity carried her coffee cup over to the couch across from Oliver. She thought about sitting next to him, but this incarnation of him was unfamiliar and she was uncertain of her standing with him.

"Okay," Felicity said as she seated herself. She perched the coffee mug on her knee and relished the way the heat of it seeped through her jeans and into her skin. "What should I know?"

Oliver swallowed. His eyes fell from Felicity's face to the carpet in front of him. He didn't want to tell this story, but he would because it was important, and because it might save Felicity's life.

"About a year ago, I made a mistake that started a war."

Felicity's breath whooshed out of her. No easing into it, then. "A war?"

"Well, a blood feud. There was a young man in Starling, Nikolai. He was running an operation to hijack medical transport trucks and steal the drugs for resale on the black market. The hospital in the Glades was getting hit the hardest. People were dying. Lots of people."

She cut her eyes to Digg. "The Glades?"

"The poorer leg of the city," Digg clarified. "Rough, poverty stricken, gang heavy."

Felicity nodded and waited for Oliver to continue.

The man across from her cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. When he lifted his eyes to connect with hers they were hard.

"I killed him."

Felicity's heart took a nose-dive out of her chest and fell all the way to her feet. Her hand curled tightly around the handle of her coffee mug and the ceramic pinched the soft skin of her fingers. She didn't look away from Oliver.

"The hijacking stopped. But Nikolai had a brother: Dmitri. He's … grown up in the Bratva. Family man. I had no idea. I lost my temper and killed a family member of a man in good standing with the Russians."

"That's bad," Felicity breathed out. She'd lived with the Italians long enough to know that going after a member's family was not done unless by direct order from the man in charge. Even then, it wasn't done by halves: the whole line was written off so that situations like this one couldn't play out.

Oliver nodded in agreement. "It didn't matter that I had no idea Nikolai was connected to the Brotherhood. Dmitri called it a strategic murder and retaliated."

The bottom rim of the coffee cup was burning her. The heat that had seemed reassuring moments ago transformed into something violent, something angry that felt as though it wanted to flay the skin from her leg. Felicity set the cup down too hard on the coffee table; a splash of coffee leapt over the rim and painted the tabletop.

She knew where this was going, and she didn't want it to. Stop, Felicity thought, go back.

"Dmitri was waiting for my mother in her car. He shot her in the stomach and left her to bleed out in an alley in the Glades. Three blocks from the hospital."

"Stop." Felicity surged to her feet. She moved to the window and imagined the body of a mother in a pool of sticky blood. Her blood pulsed in her ears.

"I had no idea." Oliver went on anyway. "He stashed her car, mailed me the keys and an address with his brother's name written on the back."

Felicity breathed deeply through her nose. She focused on the way her lungs expanded and pushed her ribcage up and out, and imagined the bones pressing against the inner membrane of her skin.

"Anatoly Knyazev is the leader of the Solntsevskaya Bratva. I saved his life five years ago, and he saved mine by stepping in. He warned Dmitri off, and Dmitri thanked him by organizing a coup."

She spun on her bare heel and fixed horrified eyes on the man she'd blackmailed into being her husband.

"A coup?"

"Anatoly crushed it before it got off the ground, but he couldn't pin it on Dmitri. There's a power shift happening in the Bratva, and I've been doing everything I can to make sure the chips fall in Anatoly's pile. If they don't …"

"You and everyone in your orbit will end up obituaries in a Sunday paper."

No one spoke. The grim echo of Oliver's words settled around her like a shroud. This wasn't one of those "out of the frying pan and into the fire" situations; this was a searing plunge from the heart of one volcano into another. Felicity had spent too long in the flames, had become so accustomed to the lick of them along her skin that she'd only lately realized that the fire was consuming her.

The Russians would not tease and taunt her the way the Italians had. They would not hide around the corner; they'd just walk right up and shoot her.

She had followed Oliver right into the bear cave without knowing what it was.

"Felicity."

Oliver had risen to his feet. Digg was no longer a presence behind the couch. She narrowed her eyes at the only man left in the room. She was angry that he hadn't warned her before, that he'd let her step foot on that plane without all the facts, but mostly she was tired. Always the threat of death hanging over her head, and she was so sick of looking up. Felicity was exhausted by the effort of being afraid.

Still, at least here she knew what was coming.

"Felicity."

"You should have told me."

Oliver paused. Then, "I just did."

"Before that. Before I got on the plane. You should have told me what I was walking in to."

He wanted to be angry with her for the reprimand, but the emotion wasn't there. She was right; he should have told her what she was agreeing to by coming with him.

"I'm out of practice." It wasn't meant to be an excuse, but it was an explanation. "Talking to people. Telling them things they need to know. Silence saves lives."

Felicity sighed and let her head fall forward. She understood the sentiment, and how hard it could be to know what to share, and with whom. Oliver was accustomed to being the decision maker in his family, and she had a hunch that before his sudden, horrible promotion to head of the family the only decisions he'd had to make were for and about himself. This was new territory for them both, uneven, convoluted territory without any preexisting boundaries for them to orient themselves around.

"Not mine," Felicity finally answered.

Oliver blew out a quiet breath and crossed his arms. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head once. Her hair was half-dry, but she could feel the wet spot on her back as the strands moved over the surface. "Apology accepted. Let's just … figure this out."

"If you want to leave, Felicity, I'll put you back on the jet and have Sara and Thea meet you in Central City. You can leave right now."

Oliver meant it. Felicity could see the sincerity in his expression, though she could recognize little else in his countenance. The hardness that had crawled into his eyes at the beginning of his tale had not left, but it didn't look the same now. She didn't know why.

She hadn't expected the offer to leave, but she trusted that if she opened her mouth and accepted it, Oliver would have her on the plane in a matter of hours. If she asked, Oliver would let her leave; but she didn't ask, and she didn't accept. Felicity didn't want to be in Russia. She didn't want to walk into a situation where a wrong movement could cost her life, and she didn't even have the benefit of knowing what movements were wrong; she didn't want to feel that familiar tightness of her chest and the crawling sensation over her skin that was fear. Leaving … Oliver didn't need her, she knew, because he didn't need anyone (and he had Digg, besides), but leaving felt wrong. She was an interloper in this situation, but maybe there was some way she could help. Maybe Felicity could make sure those chips fell on Anatoly's side and secured the Queen family safety – and thus, her own.

Felicity didn't owe Oliver her loyalty, but she gave it to him anyway. He had showed her kindness; protected her; offered her compassion and peace. She could at least attempt to help in some small way.

Perhaps she didn't owe him loyalty, but he'd earned it, so she gave it.

"I'll stay."

Oliver didn't relax, but there was a lessening of the tension in his shoulders. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the movement drew Felicity's eyes to his feet. They stayed there only a moment, until they fell on the hand at Oliver's side: she just caught the movement of his thumb and the soft thwack sound of his fingernail against his wedding band. She'd never seen him do that before.

"I won't let them hurt you," Oliver said quietly. A reassurance or a promise, she didn't know. "Digg and I will make sure you're safe."

Felicity raised her eyes to his face and tried to give him a smile. The attempt was tremulous at best, but she didn't know what to say and it was better than nothing.

She moved back to her spot on the couch. Felicity eyed her coffee mug, decided that she needed the caffeine and that the horror of Oliver's confession had worn off enough to let her stomach it, and picked it up. The ceramic was still warm against her hand. She took a gulp.

"So what am I walking into here?" Felicity squared her shoulders and tossed her hair a little. Adjust and adapt; that was her goal now. "How will I be expected to act? What's the Four-One-One for the women of the Brotherhood, if you will."

Oliver didn't know the chuckle was there until it'd crawled out of his throat. The words sounded a little peppy and ridiculous, but he saw them for what they were and felt grateful. Felicity was gearing up to run the gauntlet that he'd so gracelessly pointed her at. Still, he hadn't expected those words and the laugh they startled out of him.

"Just take your cue from me, and don't give them an inch."

"Yeah, that's not really helpful, Oliver."

"We're having drinks with Anatoly tonight," Oliver told her. "Once you've gotten a feel for him it'll make more sense."

"Does he know? That this," and here Felicity waved a hand between them, "Thing isn't real?"

Oliver shook his head. "The less people who know about that, the better."

Felicity nodded in agreement. Her mind was already two steps ahead: Operation Loving-and-not-Remotely-Fake-Wife was a go. Only, thinking about that made her remember her question from the plane about kissing and displays of affection, and that made her think about what had happened after. Felicity was certain that if she closed her eyes and concentrated she could still feel the scratch of his stubble against her chin.

Now was not the time to think about that. In fact, there would never be a time to think about that, because she needed to forget it. Now; ten minutes ago.

Oliver waited, but Felicity didn't say anything else. She appeared lost in her own thoughts, and he couldn't even hazard a guess as to what they might be. He had just told her a secret that he had been fighting to reconcile with for the last year; she hadn't demanded any answers from him. He wasn't sure why he'd thought that she would ask questions when Felicity was a woman who wanted next to nothing from him. Except, well …

"I killed him."

The words poured from his mouth like tar and filled the space between them, expanding as they went and drawing all the air out of the room. Why had he spoken them; what was it that he wanted from this woman?

Felicity stilled. "Yes."

"Why aren't you angry?"

His wife, the woman he was only barely coming to know, cleared her throat. She set her coffee down again and rubbed her palms together as if to share the lingering heat there.

"When they realized that I wasn't under some sort of protection as De Luca's daughter, and that I was nothing but a tool to him, his lackeys made a sport out of terrifying me. These full grown men would hide behind doors and pop out at me as I walked down the halls, shove their guns in my face and pull the trigger. It was hilarious to them, the way I jumped and cowered when the hammer hit empty air."

Oliver was clenching his jaw so tightly he could feel his teeth grinding together. Felicity's tone was smooth, calm, but he could hear the remembered terror in her words. His chest hurt as his mind recalled all the times she'd spooked at someone's sudden appearance, and curled in on herself, and made improvised shields out of whatever was at hand. He thought of her obsessive need to lock the doors.

"Do I think killing people is right? No," Felicity continued. "But I also know that not everything is black and white, and that there are evil people in the world. I don't know if that man was one of them, or if killing him was a mistake or not. What I do know is that you haven't bullied or threatened me. You've shown me kindness when you didn't have to, and expected nothing from me in return. I'm not your judge or jury, but for what it's worth, I think you're a good man, Oliver."

Her words stunned him into silence. How could she possibly think he was a good man? How could she say something like that to him moments after he'd admitted to taking a man's life, and subsequently endangering hers?

There was a knock at the door. The sound drew Felicity's attention and for a moment she forgot about everything she'd just learned. She stood, but Digg had already made it to the door and was gazing through the peephole.

"Breakfast is here," he announced.

"Who ordered breakfast?" Felicity asked as she moved away.

Oliver stared into the space his wife had just vacated. "For what it's worth," she'd said. He had a hunch that it was coming to be worth a lot – and he didn't mean just her opinion.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a transition/set-up chapter. Also, the semester is over!

Felicity had passed the last few months in a strange state. She hadn't come out of her shell, exactly, but it was only as they were stepping into the dimly lit bar that she understood that she had changed. Some of her hard outer layers had softened and fallen away; those defenses that had served her so well during her time with her father had fallen into disuse and disrepair during her time with Oliver, and now felt like old iron gates with rusted hinges. Felicity was genuinely surprised how difficult she found it to pull those barriers up around her again. Had her time with the Queens softened her so?

Anatoly was waiting for them in a booth at the back, and he was not what she expected. The man was older, which wasn't a surprise, but he was short and small in a way that was off-putting for someone with so much power. The Russian grinned at Oliver as they approached. He stood to hug him and thump once on his back while Felicity and Digg hung behind. Oliver had said that he'd saved Anatoly's life, and she could see the bond that lingered in the wake of such an experience. She wouldn't go so far as to call them friends – at least, not friends in the way that she understood the word – but there was real warmth between them.

Hearing Oliver speak in Russian was one part frightening and one part thrilling. The language was rough, but his rich baritone made it sound less threatening; or perhaps it was simply that she'd grown accustomed to his voice, and it was hard to be frightened of a tone that had never said a cruel word to her.

"Anatoly." Oliver slipped back into English and stepped away from the other man to hold one arm out to Felicity. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Felicity. Felicity, this is Anatoly Knyazev."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anatoly." Felicity gathered a steadying breath as she stepped forward and offered the man her hand.

Anatoly murmured something in Russian and tipped his head down to kiss the back of her hand. "Pleasure is mine, Mrs. Queen."

Anatoly motioned for them to seat themselves. The booth was shaped like a half moon; Anatoly resumed his seat on the corner. Felicity lifted a foot to step forward and then paused as Diggle slid into the booth first. With a quick glance at Oliver, Felicity followed, and some of her unease dissipated with the knowledge that she was comfortably sandwiched between Digg and Oliver. She was now as safe as she could get at the moment.

Anatoly called for shots. The bar maid that delivered them nodded at the three of them, but smiled at Anatoly; Felicity had the feeling that the other man was here often. In fact, he probably owned the place.

Anatoly handed them each a shot glass then, toasted them with a smile, and tossed it back. Felicity hesitated only a second; the vodka burned a trail down her throat and into her stomach. Auspicious, her inner voice whispered.

Afterward, she did her best to pay attention to the conversation taking place between Oliver and Anatoly, but it seemed to be inconsequential pleasantries and Felicity was more interested in studying her surroundings. The bar wasn't ritzy enough to make her uncomfortable, but she noticed that most of the patrons were dressed nicely. A mid-level establishment, then, and not the dive bar that she'd first imagined when Oliver had told her about having drinks.

Her father, Angelo De Luca, was a snob of a man and used his wealth – the wealth he'd amassed as head of the Italian mafia – to drink thousand-dollar liquor out of handmade crystal glasses. Everything about the man was pretentious and grating. Anatoly, on the other hand, was understated: his leather coat appeared finely made, but there was little about it that stood out, and the only jewelry Felicity could see on his person was a thick necklace. He fit in well with the crowd around them: comfortable and secure. Two things that Felicity had never equated with the man who claimed to be her father.

Felicity cut her eyes to Oliver. He hadn't dressed up for the evening, but he looked good in his gray Henley and dark jeans. Though, Oliver always looked good.

Her preoccupation came to a skidding halt when she heard Anatoly say softly, "Dmitri will make his move soon."

She did her best not to tense up in her seat. Next to her, Oliver nodded once.

"Another takeover bid?" he murmured.

"Yes. He intends to put his claim to the families again."

"His claim?" Diggle repeated.

"He will call for revenge on behalf of his brother," Anatoly explained. "Say that Oliver knew what he was doing when he killed Nikolai, and that it was a hit that I sanctioned."

"And if the families agree?"

Oliver shifted in his seat. He pulled his arms up and crossed them over his chest in a move that was both defensive and threatening. "Then Anatoly loses his standing and Dmitri will get his revenge."

"On you?" Digg pushed.

"On whomever he chooses," Anatoly answered.

Felicity cleared her throat. She hadn't spoken since greeting Anatoly, and she willed her voice to be steady. "Why would the families side with him now, if they haven't before?"

"I don't know." The Russian glanced at her, and then at Oliver. "There's talk of an ally. Someone Dmitri didn't have on his side before. No one can tell me a name."

"You sound worried." Oliver's voice was tight.

"I am."

Felicity breathed in the words, and they settled like ashes on her tongue. She didn't know Anatoly, but if such a powerful man was freely admitting to being worried then there must truly be something to worry about. Without intending to she raised her eyes to Oliver's face, and was momentarily surprised to find that he was already looking at her. His expression was stone, but his eyes glittered in the half-darkness of the room. What was he thinking? His mouth was tight; Felicity tried to tell herself that she was imagining the worry she read there.

They didn't stay long after that. The three men with her discussed probability and possible outcomes of the informal trial they were about to face, but she couldn't follow their words. Hours ago she had decided to stay in Russia with Oliver because she had thought that she'd known what was coming; because she had thought it would be easier to face the firing squad when it was staring her in the face, instead of hiding around corners and waiting. She had grossly misjudged her internal strength reservoir: this had the same taste of impending doom that her life with her father had, and the fear was paralyzing. Being able to see the danger did not take any of the horror out of facing it.

No one spoke as Oliver, Diggle, and Felicity made the trip back to their hotel. She wondered if it was because, like her, neither of them knew what to say.

Felicity made an excuse as soon as they stepped into the hotel room and retreated to the bedroom. She kicked off her high heels and fell backward onto the bed; mindless of the way her dress rode up an inch or two on her thighs. The weightlessness of falling was more pronounced tonight, and so was the bounce of the mattress as it cushioned her fall. Her whole life had been a study in free falling. She had known solid, stable ground once, but that was years ago and Felicity couldn't remember what it felt like. She couldn't remember the girl she had been then, either.

For awhile she simply stared at the ceiling and listened to the muffled voices of Oliver and Digg through the door: familiar, and comforting, though she hadn't realized it until then. She had grown fond of these people.

Felicity tried to imagine what her mother would say in this situation. She pictured her mother's face: perfectly curled blonde hair, wide blue eyes, bright lipstick, and a warm smile. The image was as comforting as it was painful. Would she ever see her mother again? Was Donna Smoak even still alive?

"Felicity?"

Felicity turned her head to see Oliver standing near the foot of the bed.

"Did I wake you?"

She heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Just thinking."

"Room service just dropped off dinner."

"Oh, I'm not …"

Diggle appeared in the doorway. "I will drag you out here."

Felicity huffed out a laugh in spite of herself. She levered herself up on her arms as Digg glared at her and then hopped off the bed.

"Just what I needed," Digg muttered to himself as she made her way over. "Two of you."

"I heard that," Felicity quipped.

"You were supposed to."

Eating helped. As Felicity ate her way through a traditional Russian dinner and half a plate of fresh fruit, the cogs in her mind started to churn out plans. Her mother had always been the spontaneous type, but Felicity preferred to make plans, and that was what she was going to do.

When a course of action had settled in her thoughts Felicity clapped her hands. The sound startled Digg and Oliver into looking at her, and when they did she offered them a tight smile.

"When does the Russian Inquisition start?"

"The what?" Oliver deadpanned.

"Tomorrow," Diggle supplied.

"Of course." Felicity's tone was dry and not at all surprised. "We're gonna need a few things."

She ignored Oliver's questioning gaze as she rattled off a list of items that she required. When it became clear that he wasn't moving, and that he hadn't taken note of anything she'd said, Felicity sighed in irritation and explained.

"Contingency plans," she said. "I don't know what we're walking into, and you don't seem to either, so I'm gonna cast a wide net here and try to get it all. You guys have had time to make your plans, and now I'm making mine."

"Smart," Digg grunted in approval.

Felicity smiled. "I know." She fixed her eyes on Oliver. "You gonna get me what I need, or not?"

On the tail end of a laugh Digg said, "She's got your number now, man."

Oliver glared at his bodyguard.

Ten minutes later he was walking out the door with a handwritten list and no idea what Felicity was planning to do.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you do as well.

Computer parts and other pieces of technology littered the coffee table and part of the floor. Wires – most of them charging wires – crisscrossed each other along the carpet. Felicity's tablet was sitting haphazardly on the edge of the small glass table; the laptop that she'd sent Oliver out for had lines of html stretched across the screen.

Diggle was slouched sideways on the loveseat, and though his head was leaned back he wasn't snoring. Felicity, on the other hand, was. Her chin rested in the open palm of the arm that she had braced on one knee; her cheek had slid down at some point and forced her hand to push her glasses askew.

Oliver blinked. He hadn't been aware of falling asleep, and he didn't know what had woken him. He was angled on the couch arm opposite of where Felicity sat – well, drooped, really.

Oliver straightened himself out and passed a hand over his face. He checked his watch: half past three a.m. How long had they been asleep?

Something beeped. A dialogue window had appeared on the computer screen. Oliver leaned forward to read it just as the machine beeped again. All at once Felicity jerked in surprise, and the hand on her face caught the edge of her glasses and flung them across the room; she squeaked, and John flung himself out of the loveseat with his weapon already in hand.

"Whoa," Oliver said as he put up a reassuring hand. "We're good. We fell asleep."

Digg blew out a breath but did a visual sweep of the area anyway. Felicity, who had been rendered immobile at the sight of the drawn gun, didn't move. Oliver retrieved her glasses for her.

"The beeping woke me," he explained calmly. He reseated himself – closer to her this time. "There's something on the computer screen."

The unexpected appearance of Diggle's gun – especially at a moment when she hadn't been fully aware of herself or her surroundings - had rattled her. Still, her hands were steady as she slipped her glasses over her nose and nodded. Felicity rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the tension there and scooted forward to better read the screen.

"It's finished," she announced.

"Good," Digg answered gruffly. "What exactly is 'it'?"

"Well, it's really more like 'they're' ready, and 'they' are a system of fail safes. Without more time I can't ferret out the name of this new mysterious ally, so I thought I'd focus on what I can do. I've compiled what leverage I could on Dmitri himself – bank account information, business names, and even information on the rest of his family. Which we would only use as a last result, of course, but …"

"Last resort is looking more like a real possibility," Diggle supplied.

Felicity nodded. "Exactly. So I've also taken the liberty of writing a code that might be something of a self-destruct program. I've mirrored the program onto my tablet and all of our phones. The program will ask for a code – once at noon, and again at five p.m. – and I've assigned each of us a unique code. If one of them isn't entered in the two-minute window I've allotted us after each prompt, the fail safe kicks in.

"I've uploaded and coded all of the information I have on my father. If one of our codes isn't entered, that information will be automatically downloaded on servers in the Vegas police department, the FBI, and the Department of Homeland Security. Plane tickets will be bought and randomly assigned and sent to Sara, Thea, and Lyla, along with a set of instructions."

Diggle and Oliver gaped at her. Felicity, misinterpreting their blank stares, fidgeted in her seat and rushed on.

"I could've done more if I'd had more time, but I thought this was the most important place to start. The three of us are kind of screwed if things don't go our way – or, well, Anatoly's way, I guess, but I can do something to make sure your families are safe if that happens. I mean, as safe as I can make them, considering -."

Oliver was familiar with the concept of impossibility. When he'd been a boy and life had consisted of Tommy's laughter and their shared mischief, impossible was the idea of his life being any better; when he'd been a young man and his whole word had narrowed to an island and the gutted hull of a crashed C-130, impossible had been the idea of drawing breath for another day.

Impossible had always been a singular thing for Oliver, a concentrated something: living, surviving, improvement. Now, he acknowledged the impossible for what it was, for the endless sweep of ideas too large to grasp. Impossible, that he had allowed himself to be blackmailed into a false marriage; impossible, that the one person he had felt connected to in years was a stranger; impossible, that said stranger had willingly chosen to face an uncertain fate for and with him.

Impossible, that Oliver could learn of all of the things Felicity Smoak had done for him and Diggle and their families, and not kiss her.

Oliver cut off her explanation with the sudden press of his lips. He slid both hands along the line of her jaw until his thumbs cupped her ears and the ends of her blonde ponytail tickled his fingers and kissed her as tenderly as possible for one so overcome with emotions too strong to identify.

Felicity had just started to respond – to wrap a hand around his elbow and lean closer – when Diggle ruined the moment by clearing his throat.

"Normally I'd leave you to it, but we're in a bit of a time crunch."

Oliver pulled away long enough to let Felicity take a breath and then pressed another quick, hard kiss to her lips.

"Thank you," he whispered.

When he had drawn away again, Felicity sucked in a huge breath and wet her lips. Time crunch or not, her brain refused to reboot. "What was I saying?"

"Fail safes," Diggle answered.

She cleared her throat. "Right. Fail-safes. So your families will get plane tickets out of the country."

"Won't those be traceable?" Oliver had finally found his voice.

"Yes, which is why the tickets won't be paid for using Queen money. The program will pull a million dollars out of Dmitri's untraceable account in the Cayman's and push it through a dozen shell corporations, and the tickets will be bought from one of those companies. I didn't have time to set up aliases for anyone, so I made sure that several tickets would be bought for each of them – hence the random assignment. I also took the liberty of creating a few dummy flight manifests to different places with their names on them. I've done my best to make it as confusing and difficult as possible to find them if things go wrong."

Felicity fell quiet then. At least a minute passed in full silence and then Digg let out a low whistle and crossed his arms over his chest. He reclined into the loveseat cushion and appraised her from across the room.

"You can do all of that in four hours?"

"Well, some of it. The program won't be finished for another," and here she leaned forward to flick her eyes over the computer screen, "Three hours? Well before we're set to meet up with Anatoly again."

"You know, when you said you were a genius I thought you were just being glib."

Weeks ago, the lack of inflection in Diggle's voice would have made Felicity wary. The stoicism of his expression would have made her want to shrink into herself, because anyone she couldn't easily read was a potential threat, and Digg was intimidating without trying. Instead of frightening her, however, now his lack of expression made her grin.

"Thankfully for us, I wasn't."

The corner of Digg's mouth twitched into a smile. "Only one of the three codes has to be entered?"

"Yep, and I'll give them to you before we leave. I was going to have it require at least two, but I didn't want to make it impossible for whoever is left if only one of us makes it out."

Felicity's words brought Oliver back to the reality of the situation and he clenched a hand into a fist. He had forgotten the truth of the situation in the face of Felicity's overwhelming thoughtfulness – and brilliance; forgotten that such things were necessary because someone might be trying to kill them later.

Diggle stood then. He was saying something to Felicity, but Oliver was possessed by the nightmare of Felicity being injured – or killed – and didn't hear his words. He stayed motionless on the couch, and was dimly aware of Felicity standing.

"Thank you, Felicity," Diggle was saying. "Really."

"It's nothing," she demurred.

"It's everything."

To her surprise, Digg held his arms out from his sides in a universal invitation for a hug. Floored, but grateful for the support, Felicity stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His arms closed around her shoulders. The shirt against her cheek smelled of soap and cologne; Felicity breathed deeply.

Was this the first time she'd been hugged since saying goodbye to her mother in a Vegas parking garage? She couldn't remember.

"We've got enough time to get a few hours of sleep," Digg said when he had released her. "We won't be doing ourselves any favors by going in there exhausted."

Oliver mumbled a goodnight, but he didn't really come back to himself until John had disappeared and Felicity was calling his name.

"Oliver?"

He lifted his eyes to her face. She had pulled her hair up into a ponytail hours ago; wisps of hair had come loose. Her eyes were tired but alert behind her glasses, and she'd wiped off her bright lipstick at some point. Felicity seemed so young suddenly, so little and easy to underestimate, but Oliver knew her ferocity and had seen the truth of her strength. He had thought of her as an animal once, caged and frightened; and maybe she had been then, or was still, but she had also never been anything less than extraordinary.

In the event that only one of them survived this, Oliver Queen was going to make sure that one person would be Felicity Smoak – come Hell or high water.

"Oliver?"

He shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry, what?"

"Are you okay? Well, as okay as you can be, considering."

"Fine."

Felicity narrowed her eyes, but then nodded. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna go to bed." There was a pregnant pause and then she asked, "Are you coming?"

Oliver nodded and pulled himself to his feet. Life was so strange, he thought as he followed Felicity into the bedroom. This wasn't where he'd thought he'd end up, or how things would go the day the woman in front of him had appeared in his office. Kissing her had never been part of the plan; endangering her, caring about her … none of that was supposed to happen.

Following her into a bedroom in Russia and sliding under the duvet while she changed in the bathroom as though there was nothing fake about that marriage license with their names on it, well, that was just crazy.

Felicity climbed silently onto the other side of the bed. They weren't going to bed together, she told herself, not really; there was nothing at all domestic about the situation.

She almost believed it.

She hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, so she lay there and stared at the ceiling in the cover of darkness. Maybe this wasn't domestic, but he had kissed her earlier with enough passion and fervor to set her nerve endings on fire. The kiss on the plane had been sweet and immensely enjoyable, but the one on the couch had been … revealing. The strength of her response had shocked Felicity because she hadn't just wanted to kiss Oliver; she'd wanted to wrap herself around him and pull him down into a world of their own making.

Felicity had been so preoccupied with thoughts of everything and everyone else that she hadn't noticed how dangerously close her heart was to attaching itself to the man next to her. At least, not until he'd taken her face in his hands and kissed her as though she was poison, and he desperate to die.

She pushed that thought away. Felicity concentrated on the rise and fall of her chest and willed all of her thoughts to go away, but they refused. Without the distraction of programming and a keyboard beneath her fingers it was impossible not to worry about what they were about to face. What if the other mafia families went against Anatoly? What if Dmitri was granted his revenge? What would it look like? Would he kill them right then, or draw it out?

"Oliver?" Her voice was a scratch in the silence.

She wasn't surprised when he answered. "Hmm?"

"Will you do something for me?"

"Yes."

"If something does happen to me, will you find a way to save my mom?"

"Felicity …"

"Please, Oliver."

The duvet moved and the sheets rustled as Oliver shifted his weight, and then a hand tugged gently on her arm. Felicity turned onto her side and followed where it lead, which was the expanse of Oliver's chest. She hesitated at the feeling of bare skin and then allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. The arm under her wrapped up and around her waist, pinning her comfortably to his side. Felicity held herself rigid for a heartbeat, wildly aware of her lack of a bra, and the intimacy of the moment, and the danger to her already vulnerable heart.

"I told you I'd protect you, Felicity," Oliver said quietly. The rumble of his voice soothed Felicity into relaxing. "And I will."

"But if you can't."

Oliver inhaled deeply. He didn't want to think about failing; he didn't want to consider the possibility of something happening to Felicity, but she was asking him to, and he didn't have the best track record when it came to denying her.

"Of course I will."

Felicity fell asleep soon after that, pressed into the warmth of Oliver's side and with his reassurance held against her heart. Sleep didn't come as easily to Oliver, but when it did he dreamt that it was just two of them. They were driving down the coast, the sun warm on their faces, and Russia and Mafioso's were a discarded nightmare.

Everyone they loved was safe, and they were together, and they were happy.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot going on in this chapter. Some of you might have seen this coming, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Also, thank you for your continued support of this story. You're all wonderful.

Oliver could feel the tension in him straightening out his shoulders, making him rigid, so he made an effort to roll them a few times in an attempt to dispel it. He didn't expect it to work, and it didn't. He was confident in his fighting ability, and he'd been in enough scrapes with Digg at his side to be confident in his as well, but Felicity … Sara might have taught her beginner's self defense, but what they were about to walk into was going to demand so much more than that. Anatoly and his men would protect them – protect her – but if things went badly then they would all have their hands full.

Oliver rolled his shoulders again. Every instinct was telling him not to take Felicity to the meeting. Twice he made for the door, and twice he stopped; Diggle stood near it and gazed at him as if he knew exactly what internal battle Oliver was waging, and perhaps he did.

Leading Felicity into the fray was unacceptable, but leaving her alone in the hotel room was more so. Oliver needed Digg by his side – would need someone he could trust to have his back in a building full of treacherous people – and that would leave Felicity without any safety at all. At least if she was with them, Oliver could be certain that she would be as protected as possible.

Stressed and uncertain, Oliver unthinkingly flicked his thumbnail over the bottom of his wedding band. The resistance against his fingernail and the small, audible thwack caught him off guard, as it always did. He raised his hand slightly and the platinum band caught in the sunlight from the open window; it was plain save for a beveled slash in the middle that gave it texture, and he'd never truly looked at it until now. He had chosen his, as well as Felicity's, from the family vault; but thinking on it now, he couldn't remember why they had been there or what had led him to choose them.

A strange thing to be thinking about now, Oliver chided himself, but the thought didn't go away. He rather liked the look of his now that he was paying attention; he was chagrined by the realization that he didn't know what Felicity's looked like. There was a vague image in his head, but not the detailed one he knew he should have had as a man who had agonized over the choice of ring for his bride-to-be.

He remembered Felicity's reaction to it, though. Her genuine surprise, and consternation over being responsible for something so valuable, had been endearing (despite his best effort to believe that it wasn't); Oliver had made a flippant remark when she'd expressed her concern, and she'd glared disapprovingly at him, and it had been the first time something of the real Felicity Smoak had shown through. That look she'd given him … she had seen through his rich boy persona in a breath.

_Fate is a fickle thing_ , Raisa had told him once. _Sometimes it gives you what you want, and sometimes what you need, but it never does either in the way that you expect._

He hadn't believed in Fate then, and he wasn't sure that he did now, but he had thought of her words often in the years he'd spent on the island. Oliver had lain awake some nights and stared at the roof of the crashed plane that had become home and wondered what his sometimes surrogate mother would say about it then.

Oliver had left Starling City as a child, with all of the folly and fleeting wants of youth. He had been spoiled and thoughtless; even as he had sailed away he'd been certain of Laurel's love – and he hadn't thought of that time in so long, now, had refused to remember – and his mastery of his life, even as Sara had waited for him in his cabin below.

He'd been shocked to come home and discover that Laurel and Tommy were married. Oliver had known that his time with Laurel had ended the day he'd snuck Sara onto that yacht, had made peace with it, but her and Tommy? Somehow he had been unprepared for that.

"You can't be underdressed for a totally illegal tribunal with the Russian Mafia, can you? Because I feel underdressed."

Oliver turned away from the door he hadn't been aware he was still facing. Felicity had emerged from the bedroom in jeans and a zip up hoodie; her hair was pulled away from her face in a ponytail, and her flat shoes barely brought the top of her head to Oliver's shoulder. Her tablet was in one hand.

Felicity was small, and young, and wholly unexpected; he had no idea what the ring on her finger looked like, and yet it was impossible to imagine anyone else wearing it.

This marriage isn't real, Oliver reminded himself. Yet it wasn't fake, either, not the way that it had first been; how could it be, when Felicity had known him only weeks – months? How long had it been? – And still managed to put him at ease?

How could whatever was between them be anything less than real when Felicity was willing to face someone else's vengeance for – with him?

"No one will care about your clothes, Felicity," Oliver said, and crossed the room to stand in front of her.

"I know it sounds stupid," she blurted uncomfortably, "I'm just …"

"Hey." Oliver reached for one of her hands and wasn't surprised when he felt the bite of a diamond ring against his palm. "I know."

They had woken that morning pressed together, and they had kissed twice, and it still felt like a dangerous liberty when he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Felicity seemed surprised, but not displeased by the action.

"I can have you on the jet and out of the country in an hour," he told her.

Felicity pursed her lips and tilted her head, simultaneously defiant and calculating. Shrewd eyes studied him from behind her glasses.

"Will you and Digg be on it?"

"No."

"Then neither will I."

Oliver had been alone for years, but it had taken the arrival of a young woman with a folder full of blackmail and panda faces on her shoes for him to realize that he was lonely.

His mother had often lamented that there were people in the world who did things the easy way, and some who did things the difficult way, and then there was Oliver, who would only do things once they'd been labeled either ridiculous or impossible.

Maybe there had been more truth to her words than he'd been willing to admit.

"The car is waiting downstairs," Digg said from the door.

Felicity inhaled deeply and rolled her shoulders back into a straight line. Oliver released her hand and moved to the door while she gathered her tablet and phone; he stepped closer to Digg than was strictly necessary as he reached for the handle.

"If it comes to it," Oliver murmured.

Digg's face remained impassive. "I'll get her out."

"Good."

Oliver pulled the door open and then half turned back into the room. "Ready?" he called.

"Nope," Felicity answered, but her small hand slipped into his where it rested at his side. "But Carpe Diem, or whatever."

The corner of Digg's mouth curled up into a barely there smile.

Oliver wrapped his fingers around her hand and led her out into the hallway and toward the car.

"If we survive this," Felicity said softly, "I'm going to need a whole bottle of that vodka Anatoly loves. And a vacation. And a nap."

"In that order?" Oliver asked.

"At the same time," she corrected. "On a beach. Or in a hammock on the beach."

"Any other demands?"

"Let me think about it. I'll make a list." She angled her head up at him and smiled.

Oliver squeezed her hand as they stepped out of the elevator, and held on to the image of Felicity in a bikini, sipping Mai Tai's in a hammock on the beach all the way to the Bratva headquarters.

* * *

 

By the time Felicity had first set foot in Angelo De Luca's house she'd already been a prisoner. She had been one and not known, or understood the full scope of what her mother had done (for her, always for her), so her initial reaction to the empire that her father had built had been one of awe.

Donna had done her best for Felicity, and her daughter had never gone without the things that mattered: love, and food, and clothing, and a roof over her head. Felicity hadn't known what those things had cost her mother for many years; had not known that some nights, Felicity had only been able to eat dinner because her mother didn't. Things hadn't always been so bleak: Las Vegas was a hotspot in the summers, and around holidays like New Year's Eve, and during those times Donna had been able to make up for some of the lack that peppered the off seasons. She had saved what she could, but it never seemed to stretch quite far enough.

Felicity had gotten her first job at sixteen, a part time gig bagging groceries at a supermarket on the weekends and one night a week. She'd wanted to pick up more hours, but Donna had staunchly refused. A strong education was the Holy Grail in Donna's eyes, and Felicity's obvious talent and fierce intellect would raise her higher than anything Vegas could offer her – as long as she stayed in school, and built on that foundation. Felicity had been irritated at the time. She'd wanted to help her mom and ease some of the stress she was under; she had wanted to shoulder some of the burden that her mother had always carried alone, but Donna had other ideas. Donna was determined to bend herself until she broke so that Felicity would never have to do the same.

So she'd stepped into the sprawling mansion that Angelo De Luca called home, and been dazzled. So much plenty was like drowning after a drought. Everything was flashy – not like the false veneer of wealth that seemed to permeate Las Vegas, but in the way that true wealth felt to those who had never known such luxury – and her attention had been diverted. Perhaps she should have known what was to come; the priceless artwork, and excessive marble, and unnecessary luxuries should have whispered to her of pomp and power, maybe, but they hadn't.

Instead, Felicity had seen success. She'd heard the words "your father" and nothing more, and she hadn't looked for anything else. She had been young, and her heart tender and childish still where it beat in her breast, and she'd thought that they were saved. Felicity had foolishly thought that her father had left them because he had nothing to offer them and now, having reversed his situation so spectacularly, had returned to rescue them. Donna would never have to miss another meal for Felicity again; she wouldn't have to cry at night and pretend that everything was fine the next morning (though Felicity had never been fooled); Felicity could go to college and not worry about who would take care of her mom.

Surely the arrival of her father was Donna and Felicity's reward for their prolonged state of tribulation; surely this was the break they'd been praying for.

De Luca had disabused her of that notion quickly, but by then the shackles had been tight around Felicity's ankles. Her father had revealed himself for the monster he was and relished her horror; he had laughed as he told her what brought them together.

Unsurprisingly, it had been as simple as this: Felicity and her boyfriend Cooper had hacked into the Pentagon, and they'd been caught. Cooper had taken the fall for her (and her heart still ached to think of his ultimate fate), but Donna had already panicked. Unbeknownst to Felicity, her mother had learned of her daughter's foolishness and done exactly what mothers did: rushed to protect her child. Donna had gone straight to De Luca – and she never would explain how she'd found him, or if she'd ever not known how to contact him – and made a deal for Felicity's protection.

_Keep my daughter out of prison and I'll give you whatever you want_ , Donna had pleaded; and De Luca had, but it turned out that what he wanted was Felicity's hacking skills at his disposal.

Donna Smoak had made a deal with the devil to save her daughter, and instead they'd both ended up in hell.

Walking into the sprawling manse that was Bratva headquarters – and Anatoly's home – was not like walking into her father's house had been that first day. There was the same glamour and luxury, but Felicity had learned long ago that the brightest cages often held the worst beasts, and her head was not turned by the glitter.

More than that, Felicity arrived at Anatoly's home with something that she had never had in her father's: power. She was not a prisoner, but a person in a position that gave her some equality. Felicity was not a tool here; she was not her father's commodity, or a worker bee, or a toy to be taunted and played with.

The moment they stepped out of the car, Felicity imagined that her spine was no longer bone, but thick cut steel. She stood tall (and privately wished she'd worn heels) and moved with all the grace that came of knowing that she was an equal.

This was not her father's domain, and she would not allow herself to be subjugated ever again.

Anatoly greeted them in the foyer as though they were distinguished guests arrived for a party in their honor. Felicity smiled confidently as the other man kissed her on either cheek and felt Oliver's hand move to rest against the small of her back. This was political; a show of solidarity; and Felicity would not be found lacking.

Oliver and Felicity followed Anatoly through the bottom floor of the house, out into a cobblestone courtyard, and into an auxiliary building made of stone. Digg followed them closely, and where once his presence had unnerved Felicity, she found herself drawing strength from it now.

The stone building was actually a large home office. The first room was set up for a secretary, though the desk in the middle of the room was empty; Anatoly led them past the double doors (hand carved oak, Felicity noted) and into one of the largest offices she'd ever seen. A seating area angled around an inset fireplace was to the left, and a bar with a marble top on the right; at the back of the room, in pride of place at the center, was an ornate wooden desk; behind that, a long conference table.

Truthfully, Felicity hadn't known what to expect, but she'd imagined a dingy warehouse full of bird poop and industrial crates and a bunch of angry Russians standing around. This wasn't that at all.

Seven people sat around the conference table. Felicity memorized their names as Anatoly introduced them: Boris and Alyona Popov, a husband and wife; Ekaterina and Feliks Sokolov, who were also married; Galina and Grigori Kozlov, who were twins; and Dmitri Zorin.

Felicity felt Oliver's hand clench into her shirt as Dmitri was introduced. Though the others had shown polite interest during the introductions, Dmitri went a step further: he stood and stepped around the table, headed directly for Felicity. Her heart careened wildly out of her chest in fearful anticipation, but she kept her shoulders straight and refused to move an inch.

"It is pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Queen," Dmitri simpered, and his accent was much thicker than Anatoly's. "Oliver has chosen a beautiful woman as bride, yes?"

"Thank you." Felicity didn't smile at him. She stared unabashedly into his face and didn't offer him her hand, or return the compliment in any way.

"If you'll excuse us." Oliver's tone was cool and dismissive as he exerted pressure on Felicity's back and led her to a chair.

Anatoly began by recounting what had happened – Oliver's murder of Dmitri's brother, and Dmitri's retaliation – and though she listened, Felicity studied the people at the table carefully. They revealed their hierarchy in pieces: everyone deferred to Anatoly, though it was clear that Dmitri did so with something bordering on contempt; the twins (who were unfairly _beautiful_ ) openly sneered at both her and Oliver, but remained respectful to the other two married couples; and said couples interacted so coolly with everyone that Felicity wasn't certain where they fell in the pecking order. The twins were clearly the youngest in attendance (excepting Felicity) and couldn't be older than their early thirties.

They would be a problem. Grigori, the male twin, made a point of leering at Felicity in intervals, and his sister refused to look at her unless it was with haughty disdain. The siblings would be the kind to wait around corners and shove guns into her face, she decided; they bled that sense of cruelty into the air. Felicity hated them on principle.

Boris was red faced and portly, but gave Digg a run for his money in the stoicism department. His wife, Alyona, was dressed smartly in an outfit of near blinding white; the streaks of grey that swept up at her temples made her appear endearing, like those warm television grandmas that Felicity loved. She watched Felicity with an intensely direct gaze.

Ekaterina and Feliks had aligned themselves with Anatoly, and thus, Oliver. They alone smiled at them from across the table. Feliks nodded once or twice in agreement with Anatoly's words, but Ekaterina sat perfectly straight, and motionless. Once, Ekaterina tipped her head and the motion drew Felicity's gaze; when she raised her gaze to the other woman, Ekaterina slowly and pointedly directed her eyes at the twins as if in warning.

Oliver's words from the plane came back to her then. "People will try to gain forever with me through you," he'd said. She had no way of knowing if that was Ekaterina was trying to do now. Maybe she thought that warning them – even subtly – would count for something if the families sided with Anatoly; maybe she and her husband would count it as a favor, and ask one of Oliver in return. Or maybe Ekaterina and Feliks simply had more to gain from keeping Anatoly in power.

Felicity was developing a headache. She hated these games.

By the time Anatoly stopped talking and called for questions – or discussion, or whatever passed for that in a conclave of the Russian mafia – Felicity felt certain that the twins were overeager, and would be the ones to climb in the windows at night and assassinate her and Oliver.

Felicity held her tongue as the talking quickly devolved into something more heated. Every few minutes someone would call on Oliver, and he'd either elaborate or defend himself as needed, but he was largely silent as well. No one needed to ask where his allegiance fell.

There was a moment, about an hour in, where Felicity allowed herself to hope. A small thing, really, an ephemeral space between heartbeats when she fixed her eyes on Oliver and thought, this will go the way we want it to.

She had forgotten the first lesson her father had taught her: no weapon wounded like hope. Knives carved, and bullets bored holes, but only hope decimated; only hope obliterated.

The door behind them opened. All eyes turned at the sound, and that was the moment Felicity realized that, for the first time in a long time, she had seated herself – allowed Oliver to seat her – in a position of disadvantage. All of her paranoia about doors and surprises, and somewhere along the way Oliver had earned her trust and made her feel safe enough to forget.

"Who are you?" Boris Popov demanded.

The voice that answered climbed straight out of Felicity's nightmares. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was hell."

There was no reason to turn around, or startle, or move at all. There was no reason to do anything anymore, because everything was about to end. The freedom she'd earned – no, forcefully taken – and the equality; the power over herself and her fate; the small moments of enjoyment; all of that had been ground to dust in two sentences.

Maybe freedom was an illusion, and life was nothing more than a succession of leaps from one kind of prison to another.

"Oh, how impolite of me. I'm Angelo De Luca, and I've come for my daughter."

Felicity didn't bother to look at him. She watched him out of her peripheral vision as he stepped closer to the table and positioned himself somewhere between her and Anatoly. Disconnected as she felt, she registered that both Oliver and Digg had risen to their feet.

"Your name means nothing here," Feliks groused. "What is the meaning of this?"

"This lovely young lady seated here is my daughter." De Luca's voice was dispassionate. "And I'm the head of the De Luca family."

"Why should we care?"

"Because De Luca is the ruling family of the Italian Mafia," Dmitri answered proudly. He said it like he was an Italian, like he had some claim on that empire, and Felicity thought he would have fit perfectly with her father.

"Which means you've had a member of a rival organization in your presence this whole time," De Luca continued. "Whispering lies into this man's ear," and here he indicated Oliver, "and feeding me information."

"My wife is not a spy," Oliver snarled.

De Luca laughed. "You're a fool, but no matter. My daughter and I will be leaving."

Daughter. Angelo De Luca was staring at her now, and his eyes burned along Felicity's skin as though they were leaking acid, but all she could think about was daughter. She was Donna Smoak's daughter; the woman who had worked twelve and sixteen hour shifts in high heels all of her life to make sure that Felicity had what she needed; the woman who had stayed behind with her psychotic father so that her daughter would have the chance to escape.

Felicity was not this man's daughter. From his mouth, the word was sullied and vile, a curse of the darkest color.

"Don't call me that," Felicity muttered darkly. "I am not your daughter, and I'm not going anywhere with you."

De Luca was smirking when she trained her eyes on his face. He should have been handsome, but his eyes hung in his face like dead things, and his smile was full of poison and barbed wire.

"See, I thought you might say something like that. A little fatherly intuition, if you will."

Felicity clenched her hands in her lap and stood to face the man. She wanted to kill him, and she'd never wanted to physically injure anyone in her life; she wanted to throw herself into him and punch him until his jaw caved in and he choked on his teeth.

De Luca hit a button on his phone. A breath later the door opened again, and Felicity was undone.

Donna Smoak was alive, and she was walking through the office doorway.

"I know how much you like choices, daughter, so here are yours. We leave right now, and not only does your mother go free, but I keep my end of the deal I've made with Mr. Knyazev and don't instigate a turf war."

Felicity's mouth fell open. She turned wide, stunned eyes on the man at the head of the table; the man who had said nothing in long minutes, and appeared entirely unbothered by De Luca's presence; the man who had sold her out. Her mother was finally in the same room with her again, and yet she couldn't look away from the man that Oliver had called friend.

"Anatoly." Oliver's voice rang out in the sudden silence.

"But …" Dmitri stuttered in outrage, "your deal was with me!"

De Luca spread his hands and grinned wolfishly. "And now it's not. Anatoly, here, was in a better position to give me what I wanted, and so we came to an understanding."

"Anatoly." Oliver stepped toward the other man with an expression as dark as a thundercloud.

A cold hand slipped into Felicity's, and she swallowed her horror at the revelation of Anatoly's duplicity in favor of looking at her mom. Donna was crying. The sight of her mother's tears made Felicity want to cry as well.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," Donna whispered. "None of this was supposed to happen. I'm so sorry, baby girl."

"Oh, mom," and Felicity was crying as she wrapped her mother in a hug. "I tried, mom."

"You did wonderfully, sweetie."

"Answer me!" Oliver bellowed.

His voice drew Felicity back to the moment. Anatoly had risen to his feet in the face of her husband rushing at him, and the cords in Oliver's arms stood out with the effort he must have been expending to restrain himself. Felicity had known that he was a dangerous man, and he'd admitted to murdering someone, but she'd never truly seen it until now. This was the Bratva Captain; this was the killer.

"I cannot fight a war on two fronts, Oliver," Anatoly said quietly.

"So you rolled over like a bitch in heat, and made a deal for my wife? I saved your life, you son of a bitch!" Oliver's fist was a blur of flesh as it shot forward, and it connected with Anatoly's face with an echoing crack.

Anatoly recovered quickly. He didn't bother to wipe the blood from his mouth. "And now I have saved yours. Do that again, and I will take it from you myself."

All at once, Felicity understood what Anatoly had done: she had been the price for subduing Dmitri's attempted coup. The head of the Bratva had obviously learned of whatever De Luca's deal with Dmitri had been, and it had frightened him so badly that he'd gotten in to bed with the enemy. Anatoly had cut Dmitri off at the knees, and she would be more impressed with that if it hadn't come at her expense.

There were two silver linings to the situation though: the first was that her mother would finally be free of Angelo De Luca; and the second, that Oliver and Diggle would walk out of here alive.

If she had known that her life was worth those things, then she might have made the same deal – and sooner.

Felicity squeezed her mother's hand. "I love you, mom."

"There has to be something we can do," Donna started in a panic. "There has to be some other way …"

"There isn't." Felicity kissed her mom's cheek. She raised her eyes to De Luca. "I go with you, and we leave right now. You can never touch my mom again, or Oliver, or anyone connected with him."

"Felicity," Oliver started.

"That's the deal," Angelo said.

"Lead the way."

"Felicity." Oliver swept around the table to stand in front of her. His face was stony, but his eyes … his eyes were tumultuous. "Don't do this."

Felicity put a hand against his chest, right over his heartbeat. "Please take care of my mom. Take her back to Starling. Don't enter the panic code on the program I made, and use one of the tickets out of the country for her if you want. Just, please keep her safe."

"You can't do this."

"I can if it means you get to go home to Thea. She needs you, Oliver. Don't shut her out, okay? She just wants your attention, and to know she's not alone."

The last word tripped out of her closing throat, and Felicity ignored the tears on her face. She was going to be alone now. She was going back with the monster of a man who'd had a hand in creating her, and his goons would be there waiting to terrify her for sport, and she would be alone.

Felicity looked at Oliver then, and loved him. He had given her safety, and peace, and a challenge; he had empowered her instead of cut her down; he had been all of the things that she hadn't dared to hope for, and all of the things that she'd forgotten to want. A shaky laugh gurgled its way out of her: who else would blackmail a powerful mafia personality into a fake marriage, and then fall in love with him anyway, if not her?

"Can I ask you to do something for me? You're not going to like it."

"If it's you asking, I'll do it."

"The USB is in my suitcase in the room. Use it. Give the information to someone who can do something with it."

Oliver scowled at her and seemed to be preparing himself for a fight even as De Luca called for her to hurry. They didn't have time to argue over this, and there was something else Felicity wanted to say before everything ended.

"Wanna hear something funny? Well, maybe not funny as in ha-ha, but more like …"

"Felicity."

"I love you."

His hands were warm and rough as they framed her face, but Felicity didn't have time to appreciate that before Oliver was kissing her with fierce abandon. He kissed her like he would never get the chance to do it again and was trying to memorize the way she tasted, and a fresh wave of tears threatened to overwhelm her when Felicity realized that such a thing was about to happen.

"The plane is waiting," De Luca sneered. "And I don't like to be kept waiting. You've said your goodbyes, Felicity."

She pulled away from Oliver with great effort. Felicity couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with him again, so instead she snuck in one last hug for her mother and a whispered, "Oliver will take care of you", and a watery smile for Digg. Then she started the long walk away from the people she loved.

Felicity's life had been lived in increments, in stops and starts, and she was aware that there might not be another start after this. Oliver and the life that she had lived with him for a short time might have been her last start, and if it had been her only regret was being too afraid to truly appreciate it.

She wished she'd said a better goodbye to Sara and Thea.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Secondary (tertiary?) character death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've commented, given kudos, or otherwise supported this story at any point, please know that I love and appreciate you for doing so. I suck at responding to reviews, but your kind words mean the world to me. I notice you; I appreciate you. Thank you so much.
> 
> EDIT: I reworded the last line of the chapter.

Oliver hadn't killed anyone in a while. Since the night he'd killed Nikolai, probably, but that wasn't important because he was most certainly going to kill someone now. Felicity's slim figure had barely disappeared out the door when he spun and fixed everyone assembled with a murderous glare. His first instinct was to go for Anatoly, and his feet had already started that direction when Diggle spoke.

"Oliver." The other man's tone was sharp in warning, and it had the desired effect: Oliver stopped moving.

"When?" The single word was acidic as it dripped from Oliver's mouth.

"I do not …"

"When!" Oliver bellowed.

Anatoly sighed. "This morning. We spoke over teleconference."

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Digg shake his head in disgust. He'd pulled his gun from its holster at some point, but honestly so much had happened in the last ten minutes that Oliver had no recollection of Digg doing so; as it was, Digg hadn't put it away and it hung from one deceptively relaxed looking hand near his side.

"Did you know who he was?" Oliver continued. What he really wanted to ask was whether or not Anatoly knew the kind of man he'd handed Felicity over to, and how her supposed father let his men frighten and torment her.

"We spoke at length," Anatoly answered evasively.

That was so, so much worse. The words cauterized his heart, and it seized painfully in his chest. A half remembered moment came to mind then, of being in his office and feeling enraged at the way no one would say Felicity's name. Oliver had despised how the people who worked for him saw Felicity as a liability instead of as a person, but the business side of him had understood: it was their job to do so. Those people were paid to think of the company first.

Anatoly … was supposed to be his friend. Had been his friend for a while, in fact, had known the Oliver on the island and trusted him enough to help him, and then given Oliver power and connection as a powerful member of the Brotherhood to reward his loyalty. They had weathered so many things together, and Oliver had never served in the military but Anatoly had been something of a brother in arms.

Until now; until ten minutes ago, when the son of a bitch had knowingly leveraged the freedom and well being of an innocent woman for his own personal gain. Oliver was under no misconceptions about himself: he knew that he was a hard man with an almost sociopathic ability to compartmentalize and lie when he felt it necessary – his mother had died without ever knowing that it was her son's mafia ties that doomed her, and Thea lived under the same ignorance – and there was a high chance that he could have overlooked such a situation if the woman in question had been someone other than Felicity.

"We don't fuck with family," Oliver hissed. "Isn't that why I'm here? Because I broke that rule, and started a blood feud?"

"Nikolai was blood," Dmitri spat. "He was born to this life, to this _family_ , and you murdered him. Your whore lives, and will get nothing more than she deserves for …"

Dmitri's neck snapped as easily as if it had been a single, thin reed and not the mass of muscle and sinew that it really was. Oliver should have been alarmed at the speed of it, but he wasn't; one moment he'd been on the other side of the table, and the next he'd been twisting the other man's neck as easily as if it was a bottle cap.

A collected gasp swept down the table. The twins, Galina and Grigori, launched themselves to their feet and immediately started screaming at him. Oliver turned, and the motion felt as though it was happening to someone else. Time had slowed to a trickle, and the danger rolled off of him in waves. He moved a single step toward the twins; they promptly shut up.

"This is done." Oliver made eye contact with everyone seated, and then turned his gaze on Anatoly. The air tasted stale on his tongue as he spoke. "I'm done. You have seventy two hours to pull your men out of my city, and if I ever hear so much as a whisper about you or your men coming near my family again, you'll beg me to snap your neck."

Oliver looked at Digg. His friend's face was drawn and displeased, but whether or not that displeasure was directed at him didn't matter to Oliver. They were leaving.

Digg understood, and started to move. A flash of movement and blonde hair startled Oliver, and when he fixed eyes on Felicity's mother he was convinced he'd been sucker punched in the gut with a battering ram. He'd forgotten that the woman was there, forgotten that Felicity had tearfully asked him to protect the mother she'd been trying so resolutely to save.

Oliver swallowed the surprise and started walking. He kept his gaze on Felicity's mom and didn't so much as flick his eyes at Anatoly as he passed, so it was by luck alone that he caught the black rectangle that was Felicity's tablet sitting forgotten on the table. He detoured by the empty seat and snatched up the device as he did a quick search for anything else his wife might have left. There was nothing. He aimed for the door again.

"You cannot police an entire city, Oliver," Anatoly called to his back. He said it in the way he'd often told Oliver jokes, or teased him about his decidedly American notions.

The reminder made the betrayal burn a hole in Oliver's chest. Angrily, Oliver said into the empty space in front of him, "Watch me."

Oliver held an arm out in silent invitation for Donna Smoak to start walking. Oliver's fingers brushed her shoulder as she fell into step beside him and he contemplated putting a reassuring arm around her, but thought better of it. The woman was trembling, but she didn't jump away from his fingers. Digg, ever the watchful bodyguard, followed them closely and with one eye focused behind them.

No one tried to stop them. Oliver was on high alert as they made the journey back through Anatoly's sprawling mansion and out to the car, but no alarm sounded; there were no rushing footsteps or shouted warnings. The three of them simply walked out, got in the car, and drove away.

They were miles away before some of the tension drained out of Oliver's body. He sagged ungraciously against the leather seats of the limousine, and his treacherous mind easily supplied an image of Felicity asleep against his side the night they'd arrived in Russia.

Donna cleared her throat nervously, and the sound splashed over Oliver like ice water.

The words she said were not the words Oliver expected. "She did it," Donna breathed in disbelieving wonder. "I mean, of course she did, I just … I had no way of knowing, you know? I sent her off in that car and I had no idea if she'd made it, or if she was okay, and I prayed every day, but … she really did it."

Donna rambled. Her voice was different from Felicity's, softer maybe or more restrained, but she rambled the same way and it was unexpected enough that it made Oliver huff out a chuckle that sounded too much like a sob.

"She did."

"And you love her."

Oliver said nothing. Those words were Felicity's, and he would not give them to her mother first; he would not say them now when she was not around to hear them.

Rather than be chagrined by his lack of an answer, however, Donna Smoak smiled.

"I can draw you a map," Donna stated.

Oliver's brows drew together in confusion.

"A map?" Digg repeated from behind the wheel.

"Oh, sorry! How rude of me." Donna promptly turned herself sideways in her seat so that she could easily address both of them. "I'm Donna Smoak, Felicity's mother."

Ridiculously, one corner of Digg's mouth pulled up into a smile. "John Diggle."

Oliver closed his eyes against a headache. He was sitting in the back of a town car listening to Felicity's mother make introductions after having lost Felicity herself to the clutches of her father; Anatoly had betrayed him; and he had killed a man.

He needed a drink. He needed Felicity on a beach somewhere, a Mai Thai in her hand and the surf at her feet, safe and at his side.

He needed to get his wife back.

"Yes, Mr. Diggle, a map." Donna's voice drew Oliver out of his thoughts. "I can tell you exactly where Felicity is being held and draw you a map of the compound. Or the cops, or whoever else you want to have one."

"Just Digg, please," he corrected. "How do you know De Luca will take her back to his place?"

"Because he's an arrogant prick with a God complex."

Oliver snorted.

"If you get to pick your enemies, Mr. Queen, pick the arrogant ones. They always write their own end. It's why Felicity was able to escape in the first place. There's nothing more fallible than a person who believes they are invulnerable. Trust me, the last thing Angelo will be expecting is a rescue attempt."

"He can't be stupid enough to think we'd let him just take Felicity against her will and do nothing about it?" Oliver challenged.

"People are a commodity to this man, Mr. Queen. He values those like himself, and keeps others around only if they're useful. Angelo made a deal for Felicity, and he'll expect that other man – Anatoly? – to force you to honor the terms."

"Oliver."

"What?"

"Please, call me Oliver. Mr. Queen was my father."

He could almost hear it: _right, but he's dead. I mean he drowned_.

Felicity. Oliver's ears seemed to hear the echo of words she'd long since spoken, and his heartbeat was a single drum beating out a staccato harmony to the syllables of her name.

Instead, Donna only said, "Oh. Right. Well, you'll both have to call me Donna, then. So, gentleman, how are we going to rescue my daughter?"

No one answered.

After a heavy silence Donna spoke again, and this time her voice was softer, and less assured. "We are going to rescue her, right?"

She phrased it as though it was a general question, but her big blue eyes – so similar to Felicity's – were fixed only on Oliver. Her face was a mask of cool composure, but her eyes spoke of a pervasive sort of fear that reminded him forcefully that whatever Felicity had lived through, her mother had as well. De Luca would not have rescued his daughter, and probably no one else in his organization would have, and it was clear that Oliver's silence had worried her. For the first time since Felicity had disappeared, Donna looked as though she doubted him, or that her new situation was any better than her previous one. Which spoke volumes, really, because she had watched Oliver snap a man's neck and then gotten into a car with him without even a wary look. Though the argument could also be made that it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.

Still, the idea that his wife's mother – his mother-in-law, and that was a strange realization – doubted his desire to rescue Felicity stung.

"Oh, I'll get her back," Oliver vowed, and the words rang out like bottled thunder in the enclosed space of the car. The "if it's the last thing I do" was implied, and understood.

He was going to bring his wife home, even if he had to burn Las Vegas to ashes to do so.

"This isn't something we can do half assed, Oliver," Digg warned from the front seat. "We need a plan. And we're going to need help."

"So we make a plan. We go home, and Miss … Donna draws us a map, and we go after Felicity."

"Man, I don't think you understand the word plan. Planning takes time."

"We don't have time, Diggle. I'm not leaving her with that man for one second longer than absolutely necessary."

Diggle didn't reply. The car was silent for the remainder of the drive to the hotel.

Contrary to Diggle's belief, Oliver wasn't bad at making plans; he was just better at going with the flow. He'd always been better at thinking on his feet than sticking to concrete outlines, and the five years on the island had only honed that ability. Making plans was great when it was being done out of the field, before or after the action, but plans often failed in the heat of the moment. Nothing ever happened the way it was expected to – there were always more variables than accounted for – and sticking too faithfully to a plan could be as fatal as not having a plan at all. So Oliver made outlines: bare minimum plans, like posable skeletons that he could flesh out as the situation became clearer. Diggle could make plans until his eyes bled, but that wouldn't stop Oliver from going after Felicity almost as soon as their plane landed in the United States.

The walk from the car and up to the hotel room was surreal. If he didn't look her in the face, Oliver could almost pretend that Donna was Felicity, and that it was her blonde head at his side. That became impossible the moment he opened the door to their hotel room.

Felicity's presence was everywhere. The laptop she'd asked Oliver to buy was still open on the coffee table; the door to the bedroom was open, and even from here Oliver could see her suitcase; a pair of her heels rested primly near the door.

Donna's breath sounded brittle as it rolled out of her mouth. "She was really here."

"She was," Oliver affirmed quietly.

The words sounded asinine in his ears, but he'd meant them to be reassuring. Moira Queen had not spoken often of what it was like for her to deal with a child who'd been presumed dead for five years, but she had told Oliver enough for him to have a grasp of how devastating it had been. Telling Donna Smoak that she had just missed Felicity – that she was now standing in a room that her daughter had spent the last few days in – would not be helpful; reassuring her, however, that Felicity had been here, and safe while she was, seemed like it would be. If only Oliver knew how to properly do that, which he didn't. Though the pain was different, it still made him ache bitterly to see all the places she had been – she should be – and only see her echoes.

The air was filled quite suddenly by the sound of tandem alarms. Donna startled and looked at Oliver and Digg questioningly as they reached for their phones. Felicity's failsafe program had activated.

Digg looked to Oliver, who shook his head. "Felicity said if we didn't type in the code, the program would automatically upload all of the information she had on her father."

"He'll know it was her if that stuff goes public," Donna cautioned.

Oliver clenched his jaw. He had no way of knowing how long it would take the information on De Luca to upload, or how much longer after that it would be before the Feds or anyone else acted on the information. They could storm the guy's place in two days, or two months; Oliver needed to operate under the assumption that it would be the former, and that while they weren't opposed, he and the law did not have the same goal in mind.

They needed to get Felicity out before anyone else got in.

"Pack it up," Oliver commanded. "We'll be on the plane and out of the country in two hours."

He moved away from Digg and Donna and dismissed the alarm without disarming it. Oliver called his pilot and told him of the plan – off the ground in two hours, or else – and then made a quick call to Sara.

He started without a greeting. "You and Thea need to be back in Starling in twenty four hours. You'll get emails with instructions and plane tickets. Memorize them, but don't use them. I'll explain more when I land."

"How bad is it?"

"Bring your Bo staff."

"Shit," she swore under breath. Then, "Quit yapping and get here," and she hung up.

Oliver's phone dinged to alert him of a new email. When he opened it he found two PDF's attached: one titled "Tickets" and one titled "Do as I say." The second made Oliver laugh.

Then he saw the single line of text: _With you, I was never lonely_.


	20. Chapter 20

There was a spider on the shower wall.

Felicity hadn't noticed it when she stepped into the shower; in fact, she hadn't noticed it until she'd washed the shampoo out of her hair, and opened her eyes. She might have missed it even then if it hadn't chosen that exact moment to struggle.

The arachnid was small, with a dark body and legs so thin they were almost beautiful. Felicity hated spiders. She'd always hated them, because they showed up unexpectedly and in places that they shouldn't be – like in her shower – but this one didn't make her jump and screech in surprise. This one just made her stare.

The body was mostly immobile, but the legs moved with a furious purpose. Felicity had turned the faucet especially high on heat and the water burned as it turned her skin red; the condensation on the shower walls had built quickly. The spider was spinning new lines of silk as quickly as it could to combat the nearly invisible beads of moisture that threatened to push it off the wall and down the drain. Every few seconds it tried to crawl higher up the wall and toward the dryness that meant safety, but instead of moving up it only slid down another quarter of an inch.

Felicity stood under the spray of water that was too hot, and watched. The spider was maybe the size of her pinky nail. She could crush it with one finger and the fight for its life would be over; she could angle the showerhead farther away from it, or find some way to get it off the wet wall and somewhere safer; Felicity did nothing.

She hated spiders, but she couldn't bring herself to kill it, and she couldn't make herself save it.

Eventually, when the spider had made no upward progress, it gave up; it pulled its thin legs tight against its body and stopped moving entirely.

Felicity turned her back on the spider, angled her face up into the water, and burst into tears.

When she was twelve, Felicity had come home from a hard day at school and found herself alone in her home. Donna had left a note about picking up an extra shift, and seeing it had made Felicity _so angry_. Her mother was gone too often; it felt like she picked up extra shifts more than Felicity ate (and she wouldn't understand the abject horror of that until many years later), and sometimes she just wanted her mother to be there when she got home. Sometimes, Felicity just wanted a family that looked like the ones she saw in the movies and on Hallmark cards. At twelve years old, she hadn't been able to grasp why she was denied such a thing. Family had been more than a word, it had been a blank space inside her that stung and bit; it had been a voracious beast that begged and pleaded to be fed and was never, ever sated.

Felicity had been awake when Donna came home that morning. Two a.m., and little Felicity had been sitting cross legged on the living room floor surrounded by computer parts. She'd planned on yelling at her mother about never being there until she'd made eye contact and discovered that her mom had been crying. Felicity's anger had melted away and she'd run to her mother with that same sweet need that most children had to assuage the pain of those they loved. Donna hadn't chastised her daughter for staying up on a school night; she hadn't even kicked off her high heels. She'd wrapped her arms around her daughter and fallen onto the couch with her, and they'd cried together for nearly an hour.

"I was angry at you today," Felicity had admitted. "But only 'cause I missed you. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Or course not, baby girl. You're allowed to be angry, and hurt, and happy, and anything else you need to be."

"But why was I angry?"

"Because loneliness is a hard thing to bear, Felicity, and it does strange things to people. We're not made for loneliness."

"But we're alone all the time."

"Alone isn't lonely, sweetie. Alone is being the only person in a room. Lonely is feeling like there isn't another soul in existence that cares about you. One is the lack of company, and the other is the lack of connection."

Felicity had thought hard on that and finally asked, "Mom?"

"Yes, baby girl?"

"Are you lonely?"

Donna had hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, and Felicity had never forgotten her answer. "With you, I'm never lonely."

Felicity cried into the water like she had that night on the couch. She let out everything that she'd kept inside, or told herself she didn't have time to feel, until the heat in her breast raged as hotly as the water that sluiced off her skin.

When the tears finally stopped, she finished showering, shut off the water, and turned to step out of the shower. The little spider with beautiful legs clung determinedly to the wall.

Felicity gave it a wide berth as she got out and grabbed a towel. Outside the door, she could hear voices in the hallway. Two were male, and one was female, and Felicity recognized two of the three.

"He shoulda killed her." That was one of the voices that she recognized as belonging to her father's right hand man, Slade. His Australian accent was unmistakable.

"Give me two minutes." That was Isobel, a woman who had developed an instant and ferocious hatred of Felicity from the start.

Felicity was tugging her clothes on and listening to the conversation – which neither Slade nor Isobel were trying to keep quiet – when she thought of something that bowled her over. Isobel's last name was Rochev, and wasn't that a Russian name? It certainly sounded Russian to Felicity. She'd never paid much attention to the woman's name before because she hadn't cared, and it hadn't made any difference to Felicity where Isobel was from or what sort of ties she had. Now, though … now it occurred to her wonder how De Luca had known to find an in with the Bratva in the first place; there was no way that Dmitri could have known anything about her, so how had he magically fallen into a deal with her father, of all people? Also, Dmitri was not the type of person to warrant De Luca's attention. Why hadn't he gone straight to Anatoly? Why had he dealt with Dmitri at all?

Felicity had spent enough time with Angelo De Luca to know that he was a vain and arrogant man. Had Dmitri approached him, his reaction would have been repulsion – not cooperation. De Luca would have been personally offended that someone so obviously beneath him had the audacity to seek him out. Yet, somehow, the Italian Mafioso had not only listened to Dmitri, he'd aligned himself with the other man (no matter how briefly that had lasted).

De Luca's appearance in Russia was starting to make sense.

Felicity had told Oliver that first day she'd walked into his office and proposed a fake marriage that the Italians considered marriage a binding contract. Marriage between members of ruling families in opposing organizations was rarely done, but not unheard of; wives became the responsibilities of their husbands, and their protection and loyalties changed accordingly. Felicity had been banking on that tradition to shield her from her father.

Spying was not done, because it resulted in the extinction of entire family lines; for that same reason, information was never exchanged between families. Marriage outside of the organization was akin to death for the bride (because women always made for prettier chess pieces).

"What the hell is it with this chick?" the unfamiliar voice snapped.

Felicity was abruptly reminded that the death being discussed outside the door was her own, and that she was still only half dressed. In a mindless frenzy she pulled the rest of her clothes on, distantly grateful that the few clothing items she'd left months before hadn't been discarded.

She gathered up her dirty clothes and took a breath. Her heartbeat had accelerated painfully at the understanding that she was about to be face to face with those people again.

"She's a pain in the ass," Slade answered.

On a whim and perhaps to delay the inevitable, Felicity leaned her head hesitantly into the shower stall. Her spider wasn't there, but when she glanced up, she could discern the tiny body making its way toward the upper sill of the shower door. Felicity allowed herself the hint of a smile.

Three people turned to fix their eyes on her when she opened the door. Slade glared at her out of his one good eye, and Isobel sneered, and the third man … was a kid. Well, a teen, but he had to be a few years younger than Felicity. He was probably Thea's age, and thinking of Oliver's pistol of a sister hurt. The kid was also handsome, if one could get past his haughty derision long enough to focus on the defined cheekbones and bright eyes. Felicity had never seen the youth before, so he was either new, or … she didn't know what. What the hell was someone so young doing tangled up with the Italian mafia?

Unless he was part of a family and had been recently indoctrinated, in which case Felicity secretly mourned for him.

"What the hell were you doing in there, trying to drown yourself?" Slade snapped.

"Were you crying?" Isobel jeered.

Felicity narrowed her eyes at the other woman. She tried to bite her tongue – lashing out will only make it worse, she told herself – and the words slipped out anyway. "Were you born worthless, or was it something your mommy taught you?"

She barely had a breath to spare. Isobel's face contorted in unfiltered rage and Felicity flinched on instinct, but her reflexes had slowed in the time she'd spent (unthreatened) with Oliver. The majority of Isobel's fist missed Felicity's face, but her knuckles caught on Felicity's lips and dragged them over her teeth. Her bottom lip split wide open. The jarring motion of her head and neck as she flinched caused Felicity to bite down hard on her tongue; between these two things, her mouth filled quickly with blood.

It could have ended there, but Isobel looked so cruelly smug, and Felicity found herself so unexpectedly full of hatred – hatred for the people who taunted her, and the man who'd sent her back here, and too many other things to name – that she pooled all of the blood in her mouth on her tongue and spit it angrily in Isobel's face.

Isobel retaliated by shoving her knee so far into Felicity's gut that it must have connected with her spine. The air was knocked out of her lungs, and she slumped to the floor in a heap. Isobel wiped the bloody spittle from her face and lowered herself to balance on the balls of her feet over Felicity's head.

"I want you to know that you're going to die soon, and that mine will be the last face you see when you do."

Felicity barely heard the sound of the other woman's retreating footsteps over her own violent wheezing. She kept her eyes screwed shut and focused on forcing her lungs to expand and contract the way they were supposed to.

Slade, who had watched impassively as the two women went at each other, eventually reached down and pulled Felicity off the ground by one arm.

"Bold," he stated dryly. "Stupid, but bold."

Felicity barely managed to force her legs to bear weight before Slade was leading her down the hall to her room. De Luca had taken the door off its hinges as part of Felicity's punishment – she couldn't lock herself in this time, or lock others out – and Slade dragged her through the permanently open doorway. He didn't throw her on the bed, per se, but neither did he show her any particular concern as he deposited her there.

"Clean yourself up." Then the Australian disappeared.

De Luca had assigned Slade as the guard dog to make sure that Felicity didn't escape again, and he wasn't happy about it. All in all, though, she preferred his cold disinterest to the open violence that many of De Luca's men seemed barely able to restrain. He kept an eye on her and threatened to hurt her if she tried to pull anything over on him, but Slade mostly ignored her and left her alone.

Felicity was surprised when, not two minutes after Slade had disappeared, the unfamiliar kid stepped into the room with a wet rag.

"You look terrible."

Felicity coughed gingerly and winced when it made her ribs pinch painfully. "I feel terrible. Who are you, anyway?"

"Roy Harper." The kid – Roy pulled a chair over to the edge of the bed and worked the lever to raise it so that he was of a height with Felicity. "Probably shouldn't try that again."

"I shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Roy pressed the hot rag against her bottom lip gingerly, and Felicity hissed in pain but didn't pull away.

"It was a pretty awesome come back, though."

She sighed and tried to hang her head, but the movement pressed her split lip harder into the rag and she snapped her head back quickly. Roy glared at her and then grasped her chin in one hand and resumed his ministrations.

"Don't say that," Felicity whispered. "What I said was awful. Don't make it sound like an accomplishment."

"Did you forget the part where you said it to Isobel Rochev? She deserves worse."

"Maybe," she agreed. "But I don't want to be the one to give it to her. That's not who I want to be."

"I don't think anyone would judge you for protecting yourself, under the circumstances."

"That's just it, Roy. That wasn't about protecting myself, that was about hurting Isobel."

"So what?"

Felicity didn't answer. Up close, Roy was even more handsome than she'd first thought, but he was also young. Young, and lost, and angry, and she wondered again what had brought him here. He was just like Thea; where was the big brother or sister that he so obviously needed to look after him? Where were his parents?

So what, Roy had asked, and Felicity had an answer but couldn't find the words to explain it. She didn't care about hurting Isobel. Not really, because the other woman had done worse to Felicity, and she didn't doubt for one second that Isobel would delight in killing her. It wasn't about Isobel, though, it was about what she brought out in Felicity; it was about the person Felicity could become if she let herself. She had long subscribed to the belief that evil was made, rather than born, and that meant that someone had created Isobel. Someone, or something – or a lifetime of someone's and something's – had taken the child Isobel had been and twisted and molded her into the woman who could promise to kill another person and mean it.

Felicity would not let Isobel, or Angelo De Luca, or anyone else do the same to her. The years of torment and neglect under her father's roof had taken their toll, however, and there was a darkness in Felicity's soul that she had never been aware of before. As a child, she'd believed without reservation when her mother had told her that she was a good person; now, she understood that goodness was not something that could exist without help. The moment Felicity believed her goodness was a foregone conclusion – a certainty instead of a promise – was the moment it went away. Believing that she was a good person wasn't enough: she had to work at it.

That had never been harder than it was now, when she was surrounded by so much cruelty, and weary to the bone. How could she explain that to Roy, though? How could she make him understand that the darkness in her heart was never closer and more enticing than the moments she was near Isobel Rochev, and that that frightened Felicity more than the woman herself ever could?

"I'd rather die as the woman my mother raised me to be, than live as the monster that these people could make me into."

"Oh," Roy muttered. His face clouded over for a second, but he appeared to understand the sentiment.

Then, "Why are you here, Roy? How did you end up in this place?"

He shrugged, and the pain was evident behind the nonchalant façade. "My mom died, and we lived in the bad part of town. The Glades is a rough neighborhood. No one cares about kids out there. After she died, I got in with the wrong crowd. We were supposed to spend the weekend in Vegas – lift a few wallets, make some quick cash – and I lifted the wrong one. My friends bailed, and I got to choose what I wanted more: slavery or a bullet in the brain. Guess I took the coward's way out."

"There's nothing cowardly about living, Roy."

"Whatever." He tossed the rag down on the bare desk that sat in the room and moved away from her.

Felicity studied him. What sense was there in life, when kids like Roy faced situations like this every day? What good could exist in a world where parents were taken too soon, and children suffered? How could justice be more than a flight of fancy dreamt up to make the masses feel better when children were born to parents who didn't love them, or abandoned them, or abused them? Everything about Felicity's situation sucked, but she had grown up with a mother who loved her, and even her current predicament had been borne of that love. What kind of person would she be without her mother? Where would she have ended up if she'd been left to fend for herself, if her mother had died and she'd been left alone, the way Roy had been?

"Wait." Felicity straightened suddenly. "Did you say the Glades?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"That's the bad part of Starling City, right?"

"Yes," Roy answered slowly. "Why?"

"What if you could go home, Roy? What if you could go back? Would you?"

"I don't know. I hate it here, but there's nothing there for me. There's nothing anywhere for me."

Felicity smiled sadly. Young, and lost, and sweet enough to clean the blood off her face out of the goodness of his heart. He could be another of her father's tools, a cleverly planted bug to feel her out and gather information; he could betray her, or kill her, or any number of bad things. His whole story could be a lie.

Roy Harper could be another Anatoly Knyazev, playing at kindness on the surface and ready to turn her in at the slightest encouragement.

Felicity flicked her thumbnail over the bottom of the wedding ring that no one had taken from her. Oliver had been faced with the same decision the night she'd tried to blackmail him, and his decision had made all the difference in the world to her. He could have thrown her out (which Digg had surely advised him to do), or reported her to the police, or even had Digg shoot her where she stood. Oliver could have done anything – and he'd chosen to help her. He'd agreed to her wild scheme and taken her home, and protected her exactly as he'd promised, even from his angry hellcat of a little sister.

Oliver Queen had saved her life.

"What if there could be?" Felicity whispered.

"Could be what?"

"What if there could be something for you there? In Starling City."

"Like what, handcuffs and a jail cell? No, thanks."

"Freedom, and safety." The plan was forming in her head even now, snippets of ideas that crashed into each other and locked together like links in a chain.

"Right," Roy scoffed. He eyed her warily, as though he expected her to leap off the bed and strangle him. "Aren't you De Luca's daughter? Like I'm gonna trust you."

The way his eyes had started to shine belied his dismissive words, though. Roy had that look that Felicity had so often seen staring back at her in the mirror: desperation, and bald need. This environment was as toxic to him as it was to Felicity, and he wanted out as badly as she did.

She could help him, just as Oliver had helped her.

"I've learned two things in the last few years, Roy. My father has taught me that you can't wait around for somebody else to save you. You are your own hero. And my husband taught me that sometimes, people surprise you."

"What the hell do either of those things have to do with me?"

"Nothing, unless you want them to."

Felicity's torso hurt and her lip throbbed painfully, and she was in a house full of crazy people who would just as soon kill her as look at her; she was being guarded like a prisoner, which she was, and had no access to technology; and she had a half-formed plan in her head that had better odds of getting her killed than gaining her freedom.

She was also a genius who had discovered something about Isobel Rochev that she could use to her advantage, and even a half-formed plan of escape was better than lying down and waiting to die - and if that plan could save Roy as well? She had to try.

Not unexpectedly, Roy spooked. "You're out of your mind. Stay the hell away from me."

He practically bolted from her room. Felicity sighed and lay down gingerly on the bed. She was afraid of sleeping, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable she was, but she was exhausted and everything hurt.

First, she'd sleep. Then she'd work out a way to get herself and Roy Harper the hell out of her father's grasp.


	21. Chapter 21

Oliver was not a heavy sleeper, and he wasn't an easy sleeper; one of the things that he'd adapted to on Lian Yu and never been able to rid himself of was the tendency to sleep only a sparse few hours at a time. His wakefulness had bothered his mother and sister when he'd first returned home. Thea had called it unnatural – well, her words had been more along the lines of, "not sleeping is weird, Ollie" – but Moira Queen had seen it differently. Moira had understood her son's lack of sleep for the hyperawareness and distrust that it was; Oliver didn't feel safe enough to sleep for longer than a few hours. Of course, that hadn't been helped by the fact that the first night he'd been home: Moira had attempted to wake Oliver from a night terror and he'd damn near choked her to death. After that, Oliver had been careful to keep up the appearance of sleeping through the night, and to lock the door to his bedroom every night.

With Felicity by his side, Oliver had slept through the night for the first time in seven years; without being drugged, or on the brink of death, or something equally … unnatural.

Oliver snatched four hours of sleep on the flight back to Starling City. Not four consecutive hours, either, because his brain refused to shut off and he wasn't interested in forcing it to. He was too busy stewing over everything that had happened, and everything that was to come.

True to her word, Donna used the time on the plane to draw them a map. She typed the exact address into Oliver's phone, and then into Digg's, and then asked for paper. Oliver had been expecting a vague sort of floor plan, like people seemed to do when they were in a rush or trying to recall certain details (or the slightly formless kind of drawing that kids did when first learning); he was surprised when Donna presented him with a concise blue print with crisp lines and exact details, like what wall the windows were on in the rooms and how big each room was. She'd written the dimensions in and everything.

Digg let out a low whistle when Oliver handed him the paper. "Impressive."

"Felicity may have gotten her genius from her father, but I'm far from stupid. People like to underestimate me because I'm a cocktail waitress, or a blonde in a short dress."

"Something we will never do," Digg assured her with a grin.

Donna returned the smile. "Good. A few months ago I could have even told you what guards would be posted where, but Angelo changed it all when Felicity left. He sent a bunch of his regular idiots out and brought new ones in."

"To search for Felicity?" Oliver asked.

"At first, I thought so. I overheard someone saying something about one of Angelo's guys getting killed in Starling City, but I had no way of knowing if that had anything to do with Felicity."

"You didn't know she was in the city?" Digg queried in surprise.

Donna shook her head. "Felicity and I ferreted out a handful of rival mob bosses over the span of months. I told her about the marriage loophole and we … well, picked a handful of candidates, if you will, and then I sent her away. I didn't want her to tell me where she was going in case Angelo tried to torture it out of me."

"You couldn't give her away if you didn't know where she was going," Oliver surmised.

"Exactly."

"But they were in the newspaper," Digg pushed. He glanced at Oliver. "Remember? Sara was teasing Felicity about the headlines. He had to have known where his daughter was, and if he did, why didn't he make a move?"

"There are only two televisions in Angelo's house, and they're tuned to Italian channels. He's a pretentious dick like that."

Diggle barked out a surprised laugh, and even Oliver's mouth quirked up into a wry grin.

"At any rate, Angelo might have known where Felicity was, but I didn't. He controls all of the information that goes in and out of that place. Whatever brought her to you, Oliver; it had nothing to do with me, if that's what you're thinking. Felicity chose you of her own volition. But it would make sense if Angelo had discovered that Felicity was with you."

"Why is that?"

"Because most of the new guys he brought in were Russian."

Oliver's jaw clenched. Next to him, Diggle's brows climbed toward his hairline; he turned calculating eyes on his boss.

"And no one thought it was odd that the head of the Italian mafia was suddenly filling his ranks with Russians?" Oliver was starting to form a picture in his mind that made him seriously consider returning to Russia and putting a bullet between Anatoly's eyes.

"He was careful to keep them mostly away from the house, but no. Why would they? Angelo's wife is Russian."

Oliver stood abruptly and began to pace in the aisle between the seats. His hands clenched and unclenched angrily. When he could force himself to stand still long enough to ask more questions, he began to mercilessly flick his wedding band with his thumbnail.

"De Luca is married to a Russian?" Oliver clarified.

"Yes, though there's no love lost there. It was a business deal. Happened years ago. She spends most of her time with Angelo's right hand man."

"Donna," Digg started slowly, "Did Angelo's wife give you the idea to marry Felicity to someone in a rival mafia?"

Donna snorted. "Not even close. Isobel would rather eat our entrails for breakfast than see either of us succeed. That woman is a real piece of work. No, the idea was Felicity's. Isobel's father practically sold her to Angelo, and Felicity found the deal they struck in the files on his computer. It's on the USB she took."

Oliver began to pace again. Anatoly – and his death, which seemed to become a more attractive option with every passing second – faded from his thoughts and was replaced, not for the first time, with Felicity. Only, now Oliver was faced with a gruesome thought: was Felicity a part of this somehow? Had she been playing Oliver from the start? Maybe she had always been working with her father. Or perhaps De Luca had promised Felicity her freedom, and her mother's freedom, if she helped him do something else first.

The suspicion washed away like a sandcastle built too close to the tide. Felicity was smart, but she wasn't conniving. She hadn't even been able to maintain a blackmail threat the first time they'd met; she'd tried, and then almost immediately reverted to simply pleading her case. Beyond that, Felicity had been … real. She hadn't tried to insinuate herself into his life, or press him for information, or even sought his company; she'd had plenty of opportunities to double cross him, if that was her ultimate goal, and she hadn't.

Oliver's stomach turned over in disgust at himself. How could he think so ill of Felicity? How could he forget for even a second the terrified creature that had first shown up in his office, terrified and two breaths away from shattering into pieces? Oliver knew that fear, and he knew that it couldn't be faked.

He hated himself for doubting his wife. Felicity had listened to his confession of murder and called him a good man anyway; she had been half convinced that they were walking into a firing squad in Russia and had stayed with him anyway. She had told him that she loved him with tears in her eyes, and traded herself for her mother's freedom, and Oliver had devoted real brain power to thinking that she could have been setting him up for betrayal the whole time.

Oliver wanted to vomit.

"Wait," Donna said suddenly. Her eyes had widened in understanding, and she glanced quickly between Digg and Oliver. "You don't think we planned this, do you? You don't think Felicity …"

"No," Oliver said forcefully.

To Oliver's mild surprise but private relief, Digg agreed. "We know that Felicity would never do something like that. But it is possible that De Luca fed her breadcrumbs without her knowledge. Made her think it was her idea, maybe."

"No," Oliver said again. He put his thumb and pointer finger over his wedding band and spun it around on his finger.

"Oliver …" Digg started.

"It doesn't make sense, Digg. If De Luca were pulling the strings and he wanted information, why would he send her to me? Why not send her straight to Anatoly? Or Dmitri?" Oliver nearly shivered at the thought of his sweet, open wife at the mercy of his enemy. "Aside from that, Felicity didn't learn anything while she was with us. She didn't even try to."

"We don't know that, Oliver."

"A minute ago you were just saying that you didn't think Felicity could do something like this, and now you've changed your tune. Which is it, Digg? Do you think my wife betrayed me or not?"

"That's not what I'm saying, Oliver. I don't think that Felicity would willingly do anything like that, but De Luca was holding her mother hostage."

"She wouldn't …" Donna began.

Oliver didn't hear her. "So you think she was a mole?"

"I think that De Luca could have been getting information from her without her knowledge," Digg said hotly, and rose to face Oliver's glare.

"He wasn't."

"You can't possibly know that, Oliver. Look, I know as well as you do that Felicity is a good person, but we both know that's not always enough."

Oliver clenched his jaw so hard his teeth made an audible grinding sound as they slid over one another. "Diggle," he ground out. "If you say one more thing to try to convince me that my wife is a mole I might do something that we can't come back from."

Without another word Oliver stalked away.

Donna Smoak studied the man who had stayed behind. Digg didn't shy from her inspection; he sat down again and folded his hands in his lap while he returned her gaze.

"I see your reasoning," Donna said finally. "It's logical. And I know from personal experience that good people can do awful things for the people they love. Something I think you understand as well, Diggle."

Digg tilted his head in wordless agreement.

"Do you really believe it, though? Do you think my daughter did all of this on purpose, and that this was all part of some plan?"

Digg didn't answer right away. He thought back to all of his interactions with Felicity, and the ones that he had witnessed between her and the remaining members of the Queen family. He thought of Felicity in the midst of a panic attack, wide eyed and doing her best to keep up with him as they walked the halls of the mansion.

"No, I don't," Digg replied.

"Then why did you push it so hard with Oliver?"

The bodyguard shifted in his seat and cut his eyes to the door that Oliver had exited through. "I had a brother," he started slowly. "Andy. He was different from Oliver in a lot of ways, except one: the only way to make Andy certain of something was to make him fight for it. If he really believed in something, or someone, and really wanted it, then he'd fight for it."

"And you knew that Oliver would question my daughter's loyalty."

"You said it yourself, Ms. Smoak. It's logical, and Oliver is a smart man. I knew that if I played Devil's Advocate then Oliver would have to choose, and he'd know without a doubt what side he stood on."

"And so would we."

Digg nodded once. "And so would we. Better that Oliver gets the doubt out of the way now, rather than let it get to him later. Or leave it to fester and be used against him."

Donna hummed noncommittally. De Luca was a manipulative bastard with a knack for ferreting out people's weaknesses and using them to his advantage. Doubt and fear were two of that man's favorite weapons.

"Oliver is lucky to have someone like you at his back, Diggle."

"Remind him of that next time you see him, will ya?"

Donna laughed. "I'll do my best."

For his part, Oliver didn't resurface until the pilot informed them that they needed to reseat themselves and prepare for descent into the city. His anger at Digg had lasted less than ten minutes, really; once he'd given himself a chance to cool down and think back on what his friend had said, he'd realized quickly what the other man had been playing at. Though Oliver's initial reaction had been irritation, he'd moved past that quickly. Digg had done him a favor and Oliver knew it.

Oliver had stayed away from his companions to brood. He'd lay down for a bit and tried to take a nap, but that had quickly morphed into lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He'd even tried to call Felicity's cell phone; it'd gone straight to voicemail. Oliver wasn't surprised.

Thus, he was calm again by the time he rejoined Donna and Digg in the main part of the cabin. He nodded minutely at his bodyguard in a wordless apology, and Digg signaled his understanding by returning the nod. Donna rolled her eyes and shook her head in a way that was oddly reminiscent of her daughter.

There was a town car waiting for them when they disembarked from the leer jet. Oliver's disquiet only intensified as they piled into the back and began the final short trip home. He was sorely tempted to tell the driver that he would pay for any traffic violations incurred, as long as the driver got them home as fast as possible. He held his tongue, but only just barely.

The car ride from the airport to the Queen mansion was relatively short after an international flight, however, and the trio soon found themselves pulling up the manicured drive to the Oliver's home. When he could see his house again, Oliver's anxiety ratcheted up another notch: Felicity would not be safe inside those walls, and he needed to remedy that immediately.

There was something else anxiety inducing about being home again: he had decided while they were still in Russia that there were some things that Thea needed to be told. Faced with the impending moment, however, Oliver felt all over again the sense of danger that had kept him silent all this time.

True to her word, Sara and Thea were there when Oliver, Digg, and Donna stepped into the house. Sara appeared not thirty seconds after the door closed; the blonde stepped around the corner with a smile. That smile and her steps faltered on realizing that the blonde woman with them was definitely not Felicity. Her gaze flickered over Donna and then her expression fell and her lips pressed together into a thin white line.

"What the hell happened?" Sara demanded quietly. "Where is she, Ollie?"

"In Vegas, with her father. It's a long story. Sara Lance, this is Felicity's mother, Donna Smoak. Donna, Sara was -."

"Is," Sara corrected.

Oliver nodded. "Sara is Felicity's personal bodyguard, and a longtime friend of my family's."

Sara smiled and shook Donna's offered hand. "I'm also a friend of your daughter's. At least, I hope I am."

"Of course you are," Donna said quickly.

"Ollie?" Thea called then. "You home?"

"We're home, Speedy."

Light footsteps clipped out against the carpet above them, and then Thea was barreling down the staircase and wrapping her brother in an enthusiastic hug. She smiled at Digg; Thea's expression morphed into her default glare of confusion when she beheld Donna standing quietly next to the bodyguard.

"Who are you?" Thea blurted. Her eyes narrowed when a quick glance around didn't reveal the woman she'd been expecting. "Where's Felicity?"

Oliver sighed heavily. "Come here," he said as he led the way into the living room. "This is going to take a minute."

Donna hesitated by the door. "Should I … I can just make myself scarce, if you prefer."

"No," Oliver replied. "You should be here for this too."

The trek to the living room took less than two minutes. By the time everyone was seated, Thea was convinced that her heart was one beat away from leaping out of her chest and doing some kind of ridiculous dance over the carpet; that anxiety threatened to freeze the air in her lungs when Oliver sat down next to her and squeezed her knee.

"Is she dead?" Thea demanded. The words flew out of her mouth without thought. "Did something happen, Ollie? Is Felicity dead?"

The dread Thea felt grip her at the question was ugly and unexpected. She hadn't even wanted Felicity here to begin with; she'd resented the other woman's presence, and her claim to Oliver's attention, and the way everyone had called her Mrs. Queen. She had been awful to Felicity.

Oliver hadn't sat down with her like this since the day he'd told her of their mother's death. He'd told her about that tragedy the same way, with that same drawn look on his face and shadows in his eyes. Thea hadn't wanted Felicity in the family, but she'd been part of it anyway; Thea had grown accustomed to the babbling blonde. Felicity had been another person in the house; someone to talk to, and drink coffee with, and even behave nastily toward. She had been around even when Oliver wasn't.

Felicity and Thea had made a shopping date for after the trip to Russia to make up for the one they'd never done after that awful day at Queen Consolidated.

In many ways, the death of Moira Queen had left Thea alone in her life. Felicity had pierced that bubble of loneliness – whether Thea had wanted her to or not – and if Oliver was here to tell her that Felicity had died as well, then she was finally going to lose her shit for good.

If Felicity had died, Thea Queen would never allow herself to get close to another person for as long as she lived.

"No, Thea," Oliver answered quickly. "Felicity's not dead, but she is in trouble."

Thea heaved a breath. "Trouble how? Why didn't she come home with you?"

Oliver searched for a way and a place to begin the story. His eyes settled on Donna, who sat quiet as the grave in one of the armchairs.

"Let's start here. Thea, this is Donna Smoak, Felicity's mother. Donna, this is my little sister, Thea."

"Hello," Donna said quietly.

"Hi." Thea's greeting was terse, but not unkind.

Oliver opened his mouth to continue, but the words stuck in his throat. He was afraid of this moment; he was ashamed of himself for wanting, at least on some level, to put that fear ahead of his sister's right to know what he was about to tell her. He glanced away from Thea for a moment and his eyes gravitated to Sara, who gave him a small smile of encouragement. She understood without knowing what exactly it was that needed understanding; she supported him effortlessly.

Oliver was forever grateful for Sara Lance.

"I lied to you, Thea." May as well jump in feet first, Oliver decided. "Felicity and I aren't married. Not really. She came to me because she was in danger and on the run from her father, and she needed help."

"That's … what? Was her father abusive?"

"Not physically," Donna answered quietly.

"Felicity's father is an Italian Mafioso," Oliver explained. "Felicity has been trying to turn him in to the authorities, but he was holding her mother hostage, and she was afraid that turning her father in would make him harm her mom."

"A Mafioso?" Thea repeated in disbelief. Oliver nodded, and she continued. "But why did she come to you? How could you help?"

Oliver clenched a hand into a fist, but refused to give in to the baser urge to squirm.

Whatever happened next – however Thea took his next words, he would accept it. Even if it meant that his little sister, whom he loved dearly, spent the rest of her life hating him.

"Felicity's father is the leader of the Italian Mafia, and I ... I saved a man's life on Lian Yu. That man later became the leader of the Russian Mafia. His way of thanking me for saving his life was to make me a ranking member of the Russian Mafia. The Bratva."

Thea's face paled as her eyes widened. "The Bratva." She repeated the words tonelessly. "You're a member of the Russian Mafia?"

"Yes. And … that's not the worst part."

"Really? 'Cause it sure sounds like it from where I'm sitting," Thea sassed.

Oliver looked down at their hands. He had taken one of Thea's slimmer ones and clutched it in one of his own; he considered letting it go now in anticipation of her reaction to his next confession, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted – no, needed – to maintain this physical connection for as long as he was able. His sister might turn away from him in disgust after this; she might never hug him or hold his hand again.

"Do you remember a news story from a few years ago, just a few weeks before mom was killed? Medical transport trucks kept getting hijacked on their way to the hospitals in the Glades."

"Yes," Thea answered slowly. "People were dying because the medication kept getting stolen."

 _You're a good man, Oliver_ , Felicity's voice whispered in his mind.

Oliver straightened his shoulders and looked Thea full in the face. Now that the moment of truth was here, he would not hide from it. He would not cower or shield himself from the blame. He could make no reparations for what had been done beyond owning his mistakes and shouldering the responsibility.

"I killed the man behind the robberies." His voice was steady and soft, but it sounded like a death knell in the painfully silent room. "His name was Nikolai, and he had a brother in the Bratva. I didn't know that at the time, but it didn't matter. I started a blood feud, and Nikolai's brother retaliated by …"

Thea recoiled before he had a chance to finish. She yanked her hand out from beneath his, and the skin of their hands made an audible shuffling sound as they slid over one another. Thea's eyes were glassy with unshed tears as she swept to her feet and began to pace in the area in front of the couch.

"He killed mom?" she demanded thickly. "You killed someone, and that guy's brother killed mom?"

"Yes."

"For no reason? Mom wasn't mugged, or … or randomly attacked? Or killed for money?"

"No."

"She was killed just for being your mom?" Thea stopped pacing as the word 'killed' slipped from her lips. She turned blazing eyes on her brother and ignored the tear that fell from one eye.

"Yes. Mom was killed for revenge, Thea."

Thea heaved a deep breath, shivered, and then began to pace again. She started speaking to herself, but as the words gained momentum, she directed them at Oliver again. "So … you work for the Russian Mafia. You killed someone to save a bunch of sick people, and that got mom killed. Felicity's been running away from her father and somehow ended up here, where she magically talked you into a fake marriage, and now she's … where, exactly?"

"Her father has her," Diggle supplied.

"The man whose life I saved – the leader of the Bratva betrayed me, and handed Felicity over to her father to save his ass. He showed up in Russia and promised Felicity that if she went with him, then he'd let her mom go free," Oliver explained.

Donna raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a meek wave. "And here I am."

Thea turned in a slow circle and took in the faces of those assembled. "And you all knew this? You knew all this time, and you've just … been lying to me all this time?"

No one answered. Their silence was tacit agreement. Thea scoffed and angrily brushed away a few more tears, but more replaced them. She inhaled, counted to ten, and then exhaled heavily. Everything about this sounded crazy. Her brother was a mob boss? That sounded like some convoluted plot from an action movie. Her mother had been killed for nothing more than being a mother? Not money, or power, or even anything that had a damn thing to do with who she was an individual; Moira Queen had been murdered because of who her son was.

Was that worse than knowing that everyone around her had been lying to her face for years? Thea didn't know. She would do her best to figure that out … later.

"Is Felicity in danger?" Thea asked.

"Yes," Donna answered.

"Does anyone know where she is?"

"We do." This time it was Digg that replied.

Thea cleared her throat. "Well, what the hell are we doing about it, then?"

"Thea …" Oliver began.

"I'm gonna need some time, Ollie. That's … this … it's a lot to handle, okay? I need time to come to terms with it all, and it seems like that's one thing Felicity doesn't have right now. So do whatever it is you need to do to get her back, and then we'll go from there, okay? Everything else can wait."

Oliver was torn between being impressed with the wisdom in his sister's words, and upset that even when it was something important he didn't seem to have time to give her. He had allowed the weight of his guilt over their mother's death to estrange him from his last living relative, and he hated that. He would fix that as soon as he knew that Felicity was safe again.

"Okay," Oliver agreed. He nodded at Donna and Thea. "You two will stay here. I've doubled the security on the house. Sara, I hope I'm right in assuming you'll be coming with Digg and me to Vegas?"

"You'd be an idiot to think otherwise," Sara quipped.

"Wait, that's it?" Thea interrupted. "You're gonna rescue Felicity with only _three_ of you?"

"Four," Digg and Sara said in unison.

"Okay, five," Sara amended.

Oliver shot questioning glances at his friends. "Five?"

"Lyla," Digg said.

"Nyssa," Sara added.

"We can't …"

"Thea's right, Ollie," Sara cut him off. "We're pretty badass on our own, but we're going to need backup. Vegas isn't exactly our turf."

"And if you say something asinine about it being too dangerous," Digg joined in, "I'll be sure to tell Lyla and you can hash it out with her."

Oliver flicked his thumbnail over his wedding band. He liked Lyla and he was generally given to trust her, but she was a player on Argus' chessboard, and that made him uncomfortable. Still, Argus was the lesser evil in the face of Nyssa's active involvement with the League of Assassins; the last thing Oliver wanted to do was draw attention from either of those organizations – or, worse, be considered as owing them a debt. None of which mattered, really, if getting in to bed with them would secure his wife's safety. Sara and Digg were right about them needing help, and if their help allowed Oliver to bring Felicity home then he would deal with the rest later.

"Is Nyssa in the city?" Oliver asked.

Sara nodded. "She's just waiting for my call."

"I called Lyla from the plane."

Oliver turned his head toward the windows. The sky was a cloudless expanse of blue; they had landed in the early afternoon, and he found himself wondering what time it was in Vegas, and if there were windows where Felicity was. Was she being held like a prisoner? Was she being abused? Was the sky the same shade of blue where she was?

He wanted to leave now. Oliver was tempted to give his compatriots only enough time to grab their gear and then herd them all right back onto the jet, but the logical side of him knew that he couldn't do that. Sara, Nyssa, and Lyla might be well rested, but the same could not be said of himself and Diggle. They had just made a trip over the ocean and the jet lag would rear its ugly head soon, and if Digg had gotten as little sleep as Oliver himself had, then they'd both be at a disadvantage. Felicity needed them at the top of their game.

"We leave in the morning," Oliver decided. "Meet me at the airport at seven. We'll get there early and scope out the place. Go in at night and use the darkness to our advantage. Donna, anything you can tell us about De Luca's security would be helpful."

Donna nodded. Oliver noted the dark circles under her eyes and the grim line of her mouth; she was undoubtedly more anxious than even he was to get her daughter out of De Luca's clutches.

Oliver wasn't one to pray, but he sent up a silent plea to the cosmos for Felicity to hold on for a little longer. Whatever was happening to her, whatever cruelty or fear her father was subjecting her to, if she could just endure for a few more hours then Oliver would get her out of there. He would save her, and then he would take everyone he loved somewhere safe, and warm, and far away; he'd face whatever judgment Thea wanted to pass over him, and he'd learn how to be the son his mother had deserved, and he'd be better than he had been.

Maybe he'd ask Felicity to marry him, and make that marriage certificate as real as the rings on their fingers.

Oliver would do it all, if Felicity could just be strong for a while longer.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! And the end is near, my friends.

Felicity's lip was swollen and pulled painfully when she moved it, so she made it a point not to speak. Not that anyone noticed or cared about her silence. For once, she was thankful for being overlooked and undervalued. Her neck and abdomen were sore as well, but all in all Felicity felt that she'd gotten off easily. Isobel was not known for being merciful.

She spent most of the next day after the confrontation with Isobel in her room. Without a door to provide her some measure of privacy, and the shuffling of Slade's feet or the rumble of his voice as a reminder that he was just outside the door, there was little in the way of actual escape planning that Felicity could do. She paced, and stared at the wall, and wondered how the hell she could get herself out of here – and Roy Harper as well. Felicity could be fairly slippery when she put her mind to it, but Slade would not be easily outmaneuvered or shaken off; she didn't have the same element of surprise on her side that she had employed the first time around; and she didn't have her mother around to help by creating a diversion. Escape this time relied solely on Felicity's wit.

After what felt like the millionth round of breaking down her current situation, Felicity huffed in hot irritation and flopped backward onto the bed. The movement caused her muscles to contract painfully. The irritation turned to regret.

"I immediately regret doing that," she moaned.

Footsteps turned the corner and stopped in her room. "Doing what?"

Felicity shoved herself up onto her elbows to see Roy standing just inside the doorway. He had a tray of food in his hands.

"Throwing myself on the bed. What's that?"

"Lunch. Figured you could use something to eat."

Roy set the tray on the bed next to her. There was a cold cut sandwich on a plate, a small bag of plain potato chips, and a bowl of grapes. He set down the bottle of water tucked under one arm and then sat next to her without being invited to do so.

"Thank you," Felicity said softly, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Roy shrugged uncomfortably. "It's just food."

"It's sweet," she persisted.

"Whatever."

Felicity bit back a smile. Roy Harper probably hadn't been thanked for anything in a while.

"Have you eaten?" Felicity asked.

"Nah." Roy was obviously trying for nonchalance, but Felicity didn't go for it.

She didn't bother to ask whether or not he had a knife. Felicity picked up the sandwich and ripped it in half as evenly as possible with just her hands; she pulled open the bag of chips; and then motioned for Roy to help himself.

Roy glared at her. Felicity smiled and said, "Consider this your delivery fee. Or a tip."

They stared at each other for several seconds before Roy finally gave in and reached for half of the sandwich. The fare was a meager one when stretched between two people, but Felicity didn't mind sharing. Food wasn't scarce in De Luca's house, but access to it was another matter. Eating was a reward here, and not a right. At least if Roy ate with her then she'd know he'd eaten at least once today.

"So," she eventually started. "You're from the Glades? What's it like there?"

"Dirty," Roy replied. "Rough. Good for pickpocketing."

"Are you good at it?"

"Pickpocketing?"

Felicity nodded.

Roy thought for a second and then nodded without hubris. "Pretty good. Not as good as I thought, obviously." He cast a pointed gaze around the room.

Felicity munched on a few potato chips. She recalled Oliver's confession of what had led to the feud that existed between him and Dmitri the Russian. She had never been to the Glades, but "rough" might be an understatement for that part of Oliver's city. There were certainly ugly sides of Las Vegas, and a seedy underbelly that was easier to see away from the glitz and the glam of the Strip, but Roy's neighborhood sounded worse. Then again, maybe it sounded worse only because Felicity was hearing about it from Roy. A young man who had brought her food and cleaned the cut on her lip would get far more sympathy from her than an impartial report on the news.

Things always sounded worse when related by someone with a relationship to the audience. True, Roy didn't have a strong relationship with Felicity, but he was making headway on that front.

"How do you even learn a skill like that?" Felicity queried. "I can't imagine there's a school for pickpockets."

"Oh, there is," Roy answered. "Miss Moffat's Academy for the Poor and Pickpockets."

Felicity snorted in an unflattering manner. "Never heard of it."

"Obviously," Roy mocked, though not unkindly. "It's a secret. Like Fight Club for street rats; not for people like you."

Felicity frowned. She had forgotten about the cut in her lip in the course of their conversation, but the act of frowning reminded her of the injury quickly. She sucked in a sharp breath and evened out her expression again to relieve the tension on her lip.

"What do you mean, people like me?"

Roy's brow furrowed as if he didn't understand the question. He quirked an eyebrow at her and said dryly, "People who have mobsters for fathers and billionaires for husbands."

Felicity was surprised out of providing an immediate response. He clearly knew enough about her, or who she was, to know that De Luca was her father and that she'd married Oliver. Well, he might only have known that she married someone rich and not Oliver in particular; but his knowledge was obviously missing some key pieces if he thought that she had grown up with money and privilege.

"De Luca left my mother and me when I was a kid, Roy. He left willingly. My mom worked herself to the bone to provide for us, and we still went without. I don't know what kind of childhood you think I had, but it wasn't a cakewalk. And Oliver …"

Felicity's words trailed off. She honestly wasn't sure what to say about Oliver. The facts were easy enough to relate: she bribed him into a false marriage; went with him to Russia to face down the attempted usurpation of one of his friends, only to be sold out by said friend; and somehow managed to fall in love along the way (and maybe against reason). Felicity could tell Roy those things, but the facts left out the important bits; the recitation of simple truths didn't allow room for the respect that Oliver had showed her, and the safety he'd both promised and provided. She didn't know how to convey those things with the amount of depth that they deserved.

"Oliver was unexpected," Felicity said after a drawn out pause.

"If your father left, then how did you end up here?"

Felicity managed a smile. "My mom thought De Luca was a better man than he is. She asked him for protection, and he gave it – with a few caveats."

Roy didn't react to the new information. He didn't seem to believe or disbelieve her; Felicity could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he digested and weighed what she'd told him. Trust and honesty were commodities in De Luca's house; few who lived within could afford the luxury of taking words at face value. Felicity was reminded again of the way living in the Queen mansion had changed and softened her. The only person there that had ever been out to get her was Thea, and even then Felicity had suffered nothing worse than the disappointed and lonely anger of a young woman.

Felicity's thoughts stuck on Oliver's sister then. What had Oliver told Thea of Felicity's sudden absence, she wondered. Had Thea flown into a rage at a perceived abandonment and cursed Felicity's name? Had Thea blamed her absence on Oliver?

Felicity fought away a sudden urge to smile. Roy had a fair amount of sass in him and a few rough edges; what would Thea and Roy make of each other? The idea of Thea and Roy meeting, and Felicity being able to observe such an event, was amusing.

"So you're not in love?" Roy queried.

The frown that pulled down her eyebrows also pulled at her split lip; Felicity huffed out of pain and irritation and rearranged her features into a less uncomfortable expression.

"What?"

"You and Oliver, you're not in love?"

"What makes you say that?"

Roy shucked his chin at Felicity's left hand. She glanced down automatically and found herself staring at the ring on her third finger.

"You're married, but you're here and he's obviously not. Call me crazy, but if I loved someone I sure as hell wouldn't leave them to rot in here."

_Leave them to rot in here_. So many things had happened that day in Russia, and so quickly, that it was hard to keep the events straight in her mind. Though Anatoly had trussed her up like a holiday ham and served her up on a platter, leaving with De Luca had been Felicity's choice. Well … that might have been less true than her heart would allow. She could have fought it, of course, and she'd been determined to do just that – but in the back of her mind, Felicity knew that the odds had been against her the moment her father set foot on Russian soil. Despite that, Oliver had been willing to fight; he'd been enraged by it all. He had only given in because she hadn't given him a choice, and Felicity had only given in for the sake of her mother. That didn't mean, however, that things wouldn't have ended with her here anyway.

Felicity sighed darkly. "The truth is, Roy … the truth is that there are few things in life that are exactly as they appear to be."

She said the words plainly; they were honest and off the cuff, and it was that honesty that ultimately did Felicity in. Had she, or anyone else for that matter, ever spoken truer words? Had any tenet of life presented itself more tenaciously, more unforgivingly, than that one? Her breath burned so hotly in her breast then that it scalded her lungs; the knife of her experiences dug sharply into her heart. Felicity felt it keenly in that moment: the betrayal and disappointment of acknowledging that her father would never be the man that she wanted and needed him to be. A part of her that she'd forced away and angrily refused to identify had hoped for De Luca's redemption, but Felicity could admit now that it would never come. Her father would show no remorse, because he truly felt none; only now did Felicity allow herself to fully admit that his shortcomings had nothing to do with her.

Felicity's father had died the day he walked out on her and her mother.

The sharp clack of heels on the tile announced a new arrival moments before Isobel appeared around the corner. Her smile was cutting and dark when she fixed it on Felicity.

"Get up," she commanded.

Felicity did so wordlessly, and was aware of Roy doing the same. Isobel either didn't mark his presence, or didn't care to acknowledge it.

"Start walking."

Felicity started forward. When she was close enough to pass the other woman, Isobel jostled her roughly and knocked her into the doorframe. The movement irritated the pain in Felicity's neck and made her grimace; her lip had put up with enough of that treatment, apparently, and began to bleed once more.

"You're a mess," Isobel taunted when she observed the blood. Movement behind her made her turn her head; Roy's face was drawn in displeasure, but he made no move toward Felicity. "You can come too," Isobel said on a whim.

Isobel shoved Felicity bodily down the hall and didn't bother to check and see if Roy was following them. She wouldn't say where they were going; when a turn was required, she'd reach out and shove Felicity in the required direction.

Felicity thought about protesting the rough treatment, but the last thing she wanted right now was another showdown with Isobel. Besides, she had a sinking feeling that she would need all of her energy for whatever came next.

* * *

 

Digg was thoroughly unimpressed. "How long we been working together, man?"

"A few years," Oliver answered. "Why?"

"Years," Digg repeated. "And you never thought to mention that you could fly a plane?"

Sara chuckled and brushed passed them to step out of the plane.

"It never came up," Oliver said with a shrug.

"You sound like an angry lover." Nyssa regarded Digg seriously and with a hint of disapproval. "Are you? Now is not the time for lover's quarrels."

Lyla barked out a surprised laugh, which only made Digg's scowl intensify. "We're not lovers," he groused. "I just find it a little suspect that Oliver has never mentioned that he could fly a plane. Unless, of course, he didn't say anything about it because he doesn't actually have a pilot's license."

"Well, the tower let him land, didn't they?" Sara challenged. "We would've had a police escort waiting for us outside the door if things weren't in order."

The women gathered their duffels and disappeared out of the leer jet. Digg waited until they were gone.

"Your wife has a talent for counterfeiting," Digg said.

"She does," Oliver agreed. He was doing his best not to smile.

"How real is that pilot's license?"

"It's real. Felicity didn't forge one for me, if that's what you're getting at." Oliver gathered up his bag and headed for the door.

He'd told the truth about Felicity; he'd simply left out the information that his pilot's license was a remnant of his time in the midst of the Bratva, and therefore might not have been entirely … respectable.

Oliver hadn't ordered a car to pick them up. He couldn't cover their tracks the way Felicity could have if she was with them, but he knew enough to leave as little of a trail as possible. Their names would be on the flight manifest, but that was the last time they'd appear together. Digg and Lyla were in Las Vegas for a Veteran's convention; Sara and Nyssa were on a lover's vacation. They all had reservations at hotels on the Vegas Strip to make the farce more believable.

Oliver did have well placed friends, however, and so there was an unmarked black sedan and a stripped down, modified motorcycle waiting for them just off the tarmac. The small group headed for the vehicles together.

The early afternoon sun was bright. Las Vegas was warmer than Starling City, and it was this contrast that made Oliver realize that the year would be drawing to a close sooner rather than later.

Oliver took the bike. He shoved his duffel into the small case fastened to the back of the bike and nodded to his companions as he flung his leg over it.

"Rendezvous spot," he reminded them.

"Right behind ya," Sara replied.

Oliver shoved the motorcycle helmet over his head and fired up the motor. He wished there was a way to let Felicity know that he was coming for her.

* * *

 

Felicity shivered despite the relative heat of the room.

"You always did have my intelligence," Angelo De Luca was saying.

"You wish," Felicity deadpanned. "I was smarter at eight than you'll ever be."

The comment only made her father smile, which was the opposite reaction of the one she'd been hoping for. "In many ways, that's true," Angelo replied. "And yet, we're very much alike, Felicity."

Felicity held back the hot refusal that burned on the tip of her tongue. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, he wasn't entirely wrong.

"Imagine my surprise when I discovered where you were." Angelo smiled; Felicity hated the expression. She had few memories of her father's smile, worn out as they had become over the years, but the smiles in her memories had been full of real warmth and not the acidity that always lingered in them now. "An interesting choice, the Russians."

"I didn't go to the Russians," Felicity countered.

"No? You think I don't know that you threw yourself into Oliver Queen's bed because of his standing in the Bratva?"

Felicity clenched her jaws so tightly that her teeth ground together. She didn't care about her father's backhanded insult; rather, she was angry because he was right. She had chosen Oliver because of his rank in the Russian mafia, but now that she knew him – and Anatoly and the others besides – she couldn't bring herself to think of her husband in the same terms.

"Either way, it's no matter now. You did me a favor, my dear. I haven't forgotten your betrayal, of course, but I'm not unmerciful. That's why I've let you keep your little friend."

Perplexed, Felicity said, "my what?"

"The thief." Angelo motioned behind her.

Felicity turned her head enough to get a glimpse of Roy, who stood quietly a few feet away. She had forgotten that he was here; she had forgotten a lot of things the moment she'd stepped into the room to find her father waiting for her.

"As it is, you owe your life to Isobel."

Felicity's mouth fell open in nasty surprise. Isobel didn't react to the declaration; she stood impassively behind Felicity's father, her eyes pits of hatred that flickered in her face.

"I ordered you to be killed on site." Angelo said the words in the same tone as he would have ordered dinner. "It wasn't until Mr. Queen killed our operative in Queen Consolidated that Isobel came up with the plan to let you work your way into their good graces before we made a move."

Felicity remembered the man who had attacked her in the lobby of Queen Consolidated. She thought that Digg had been the one to shoot that man, but she couldn't remember, and didn't see that it mattered either way who had done it when the end result was the same. The memory seemed part of another life; one that she finally understood.

Felicity had been left to stand in the middle of the room that doubled as her father's study and business office; she knew that Slade stood guard outside the door, but aside from that no precautions had been taken to keep her there. The idea to attempt an escape had come and gone in a moment, because despite her relative bodily freedom, Felicity knew that she would never make it past Isobel, or her father, or Slade.

Now, Felicity's legs felt like jelly beneath her. Every thought of escape fled; not only escape from this room, but from this house, and this life, and her father. All were gone, ground to dust and scattered on an imaginary breeze. They had known where she was after all. It had been foolish of her to believe that they wouldn't have figured it out, of course, but that foolishness had kept Felicity strong. The possibility of freedom had been so enticing … so sweet to hold in her heart.

She wasn't surprised by the admonition that they'd known where she was. No, the real pain came with the understanding that Felicity's freedom had always been a farce. Angelo and Isobel had let her stay with Oliver; they could have come for her at any time.

What a blow it was to know that she would never be free as long as Angelo De Luca drew breath.

"Why?" The word stuck in her throat as surely as if it had been stone.

"You were in a unique position and you didn't even know it." Angelo lowered himself into the chair behind his desk and threaded his fingers together. "You had no way of knowing that I've been planning to move on the Bratva for some time now, but you made quite the bargaining chip of yourself."

"Bargaining chip? I'd barely met those people before you showed up. They didn't care about me."

"They didn't have to."

Felicity couldn't work out his meaning. Oliver had admitted to her that the Bratva was on the verge of a coup, but how in the hell could her presence have influenced that one way or another? She was nothing to those people; and as for Oliver, she hadn't helped him with anything related to the Brotherhood until the very end. She knew nothing of the Bratva's dealings.

"Oliver Queen was Anatoly Knyazev's biggest supporter and ally. Between the two of them, they had enough backers to make a takeover virtually impossible. Their standing was weakened by Mr. Queen's rash decision to murder that young man, of course, but even that wasn't enough."

"How do you know all of this?" Felicity asked. A picture had begun to form in her mind, one that had started to coalesce the moment she'd returned to her father's house and realized that Isobel had ties to the Russians.

"Because I told him," Isobel answered. "I believe you met my siblings during your brief stay in Russia. They're twins."

Twins. Galina and Grigori Koslov, whose beauty had been dimmed only by the air of cruelty that had radiated off of them. The twins were related to Isobel.

Felicity felt sick. The whole of her life unspooled and rolled away from her as though it was a ball of twine set loose on a hill. What forces had to be at work in the world, that she would somehow deliver herself into a situation such as this? There had to be a God, and he had to be laughing at her as he led her like a lamb to the slaughter; she hadn't succeeded in doing anything but ensnaring herself more thoroughly in the trap of her life.

She started talking as a default. Felicity had always had a tendency to ramble in moments of tension or uncertainty, and this was certainly one of those times.

"So, what? You got tired of playing hide and go seek like good little girls and boys, and decided to take over the family business instead?"

"Hardly," Isobel scoffed. "I could care less what happens to my father's bastards. They're a means to an end."

Somehow, Felicity found Isobel's professed hatred of others mildly reassuring. Everything was being turned on its head in this room, but not that. Then Felicity realized just what part she had played in all of this.

"I was the wedge," Felicity breathed in grim horror. "You used me to get between Anatoly and Oliver."

"Without your husband's support, Anatoly cannot hope to hold his position," Angelo affirmed. "He's given himself over as a betrayer, and that's one particular trait that will not be allowed to persevere."

"So, what? You think now you can …"

The rest of Felicity's sentence was swallowed by the sound of screeching tires and the dim rat-a-tat of automatic gunfire. The sound was so incongruous that Felicity could only stop talking and stand as though she'd been struck dumb.

Angelo and Isobel, however, reacted immediately. Angelo threw himself out of his chair and ran headlong at the door; Isobel, who had already been headed that way, was nearly bowled over.

Slade pulled the door open, and the sound made Felicity spin on her heel just in time to see Roy rushing to her side.

"What the hell is going on?" De Luca snapped.

More gunfire sounded somewhere outside the house. "The Feds rushed the gate," Slade explained.

Felicity couldn't help noticing the moment: Slade moved out of the doorway long enough to let De Luca through, and then he swung back into the room long enough to wrap a large hand around Isobel's wrist and tug her after him. Whatever protest Felicity had been expecting Isobel to make never came; rather, the other woman went willingly, and the two disappeared.

Felicity stood unmoving in her spot in the middle of the room for another moment. Her head was spinning. The Feds were outside? On the other hand, who cared about the Feds when her jailers had just left her completely alone for the first time in days? They were in such an uproar about everything else that they'd forgotten her!

"Felicity!"

She jumped at the sound of her name. Roy had a hand on her arm and was shaking her.

"We going or what?" he demanded.

Felicity shook off her momentary stupor and pushed Roy toward the door as she started to run. "Follow me," she commanded. She stopped just outside the door, though, and turned serious eyes on her companion. "Is there anything here that you can't live without?"

Roy took a second to consider. "No."

"Good. Follow me."

Rushing headlong through her father's mansion was a strange experience. The place appeared deserted; outside, however, Felicity could hear gunshots and shouting. The action seemed to be concentrated in the front court yard, which made sense if what Slade had said about the Feds bum-rushing the front gate had been true. The authorities were making forward progress from the sounds of things.

"Who called the cops?" Roy hollered to her as they ran.

"No one. I'll explain later."

Oliver and Digg had either let her programmed alarm go without silencing it after her departure from Russia, or Oliver had somehow found a way to use the information on the thumb drive that she'd left with him. Either way, Felicity knew that whatever branch of government had shown up to rain on Angelo De Luca's parade had enough information to put him away for good. Assuming that he didn't somehow get away, of course.

Felicity was taking them out through the back of the house. They could go across the grounds to the edge of the fence line; there was a gate that was usually guarded that would spit them out near the auxiliary garage, and if they could get past that they could go a mile or so out into the desert before turning back toward the road.

They had nearly made it out of the house when a door opened somewhere to their left. The gunfire sounded louder, and much closer now. To Felicity's horror, the door spit out the one person she had hoped that it wouldn't: her father. His hair was in disarray, and his eyes were too wide; the combination gave him an air of wild mania.

"Making your escape, I see," De Luca sneered. He was clearly doing the same. "Do you still pretend we're nothing alike? I'm your father, Felicity."

"You're no family of mine," Felicity spat. "My father died years ago."

Loud voices were yelling not far beyond the closed door. "Where's De Luca?" one of them barked.

The mention of his name made Angelo panic. Felicity was unprepared for the heave of his body as he lunged at her, or the jarring shove that sent her sideways; when she regained her senses enough to turn back to the scene at hand, what she saw was Roy grappling with the larger De Luca. Felicity had taken a handful of steps forward, determined to throw herself into the fray and do what she could, when one word rang out above the din.

"Felicity!"

Her heart stuttered; her stomach flopped. She knew that voice!

"Oliver!"

De Luca tossed Roy away from him and lunged once more for his daughter, who had allowed herself to become distracted long enough to be caught. His arm went around Felicity's neck and he dragged her into his side.

"You're my daughter," he hissed above her. "You're mine."

"I'm no one's," Felicity hissed as she struggled against him. "People aren't things! Oliv…"

The press of De Luca's arm against her windpipe cut off the rest of her husband's name; she wheezed and coughed against the pressure and tried to wedge a hand beneath his arm, but to no avail. Felicity saw Roy moving out of the corner of her eye, but he wasn't on his feet and she hoped that he was all right.

"Let her go."

Felicity strained to throw her gaze around the open space of the foyer they stood in, but she could see no one.

"Who the hell are you?" De Luca snarled. "What's with the Halloween costume?"

Felicity didn't have time to puzzle over that remark.

"I said, let her go," Oliver repeated.

"I have a better idea. Why don't …"

The whizzing sound was hard to hear from where she was, but the screaming wasn't; De Luca's voice pierced the air and made Felicity flinch unthinkingly into his side. Later, she would identify that reflex as the movement that had saved her from a broken neck. Her father wrenched the arm around her neck down and in – perhaps on reflex as well – and Felicity saw stars.

She had no awareness of what events transpired next, until Felicity found herself suddenly free of her father's chokehold. A man stood before her, but he was dressed so strangely that she tried to blink the sight of him away like the after image of a strange dream. The man was tall, and dressed head to toe in green leather; his face was hidden beneath a dark hood.

"What the hell?"

Felicity thought she'd spoken the words, until Roy appeared next to her and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Oliver!"

The man in green turned, and Felicity was halfway through processing that when Digg appeared and barreled down the stairs toward them.

"You okay?" Digg asked, reaching out to rest a hand on Felicity's shoulder when he was close enough to do so.

"Mostly," Felicity answered with a smile. She turned her eyes back to her husband, who had lowered his hood. "What are you guys doing here?"

"You thought we were just gonna leave you here to rot?" Oliver challenged. His tone was dark, but had an edge of playfulness.

The words were so similar to the ones Roy had spoken only hours (or was it minutes?) ago that Felicity could make no reply.

"Reunions later," Digg interrupted. "We gotta get outta here." Then he noticed Roy. "Who the hell are you?"

"Roy," Felicity supplied quickly. "He's with us. Introductions later."

Digg glanced at Oliver for affirmation. When the blonde man nodded, Digg grumbled, "God forbid we find stray kittens."

Sara's voice erupted from a small walkie-talkie clipped at Diggle's hip. "You got Feds on the other side of the door on your six. Get the hell out of there!"

Felicity took the words as a call to charge. She grabbed one of Oliver's gloved hands and turned, tugging on it in silent command for him to follow. They didn't move, though; upon turning, Felicity set eyes on the one thing that had been missing in the last minute or so.

She had known, of course. She'd realized it the moment that she'd found herself no longer in her father's hold, and discovered a strange man in front of her; Felicity had known when her father made no protests or threats. Still, turning and being confronted with the visage of her father's lifeless body was a hard thing. Two arrows, both with green fletching, protruded from Angelo De Luca's body: one from his arm, and the other from his throat. Felicity did not look back at Oliver, but she didn't need to in order to know that he held a bow in one hand.

Many years ago, as a child, Felicity had thought about her father being dead. She'd told herself that he couldn't return to his family because he had died in a fire, or a car accident, or saving someone. None of which had turned out to be true, obviously; except now her father really was dead, and he had died at the hands of the man Felicity called husband. Her father had turned out to be an awful person, and now here she was, staring at his body as his life's blood drained out of him and inched across the tile flooring of his mansion.

Was Felicity sorry? There was no surge of emotion, beyond disbelief, to clarify for her.

Oliver squeezed her hand to draw her into the present again. Felicity raised her eyes to the face of the man she loved, and felt nothing but relief.

"Let's go," she murmured.

Felicity led them out of the house and across the grounds, and all the while she could hear the authorities ordering the surrender of those still left inside. She wondered briefly about Isobel, and Slade, and resolved to tell Oliver everything she'd learned as soon as they were safely away.

The first time Felicity Smoak had fled her father's house, she had been broken hearted and unsure of the future. Now, her heart, hale and hearty once more, pumped strongly in her breast; she was certain of her mother's safety as well as her own; and her father would never terrorize her again.

She was still unsure of the future, but for the first time in several long, harrowing years, Felicity was assured of one thing: whatever it held, she would face it as a free woman.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one more chapter after this, and it's the epilogue. It's finished and all I have to do is edit it one more time, so it'll probably be up tomorrow.

The cockpit was peaceful. The hum of the machine bearing them through the air was relaxing, and the uniform blue and white of the clouds and sky outside the window was hypnotizing. The jet was on autopilot, so there was little for Oliver to do but think for the time being.

He'd considered hiring a pilot to fly them out of Vegas and back to Starling City. The urge to not leave Felicity's side had been almost overpowering, but Oliver had pushed it down and resolved himself to piloting the return trip. There would be fewer questions asked of them this way, and Felicity was safe in their small plane full of dangerous people.

Oliver was a big enough man to admit, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that there was another reason that he'd chosen not to hire a pilot for the way back; it was the same reason that he had yet to join his comrades in the cabin, or seek Felicity out. The reason was as simple as this: he was afraid. Her split lip and the ginger way she moved was testament to the less than gentle treatment she'd been subjected to in that place, and the level of rage that Oliver felt at knowing that was just short of explosive. That wasn't what Oliver feared, however; what he feared was the idea that his wife might hate him for killing her father, no matter how that man had treated her. Maybe Felicity had hoped that De Luca could be saved, or reformed; maybe there had been a part of her that held out hope, and Oliver had been the one to ruin that hope.

There was another fear that had only presented itself to Oliver recently: he had long since stopped thinking of Felicity as his wife with any caveats. She wasn't his fake wife, or the woman who had blackmailed him, or even a stranger; while they still had much to learn about each other, and there were shadowed places in each of their pasts that would need to be addressed, Oliver thought of Felicity simply as his wife. He hadn't been looking for a wife – in fact, he'd convinced himself that his life didn't lend itself well to marriage or relationships of any sort, an idea that had only been further cemented with the loss of his mother – and so it had taken him a while to realize that Felicity not only filled the role perfectly, but that he wanted her to fill it.

He didn't want to be alone anymore, and admitting that was a big deal for him.

Oliver could still remember the pitch and timbre of Felicity's voice as she'd said, "I love you" in Russia, right before leaving with De Luca. Loving someone and choosing to stay with them, however, were not mutually exclusive; what would Felicity choose to do, now that she was free to do so? Would she remain with Oliver, or at least in his life, now that her and her mother's safety didn't depend on her doing so?

There was a part of him that called himself a coward for not wanting to face such questions immediately. Still, he didn't move from his seat.

After awhile, Oliver found himself thinking of Tommy Merlyn. Had they been on better terms – or speaking terms, more importantly – Oliver might have gone to him for advice. He wouldn't have couched it as such, of course, but Tommy would have understood. He always had … until the day that he hadn't. There was a strangeness about that, too: Oliver had lost his best friend the moment Tommy had discovered Oliver's link to the Bratva, and later gained a wife for the same reason. What would Tommy think of Anatoly's betrayal, Oliver wondered. Better yet, what would Tommy think of Felicity?

Maybe things could be different now; maybe Oliver could finally find a way to repair a relationship that had formed a majority of his life before the sinking of the Queen's Gambit. There were a slew of things he could do, now that he'd freed himself of the Russians. Anatoly may have betrayed him, but perhaps he'd also done Oliver a sort of favor.

Oliver heard the soft footfalls only moments before Felicity slipped quietly into the co-pilot's seat. He wasn't at all surprised to see her next to him.

"Hi," Felicity greeted quietly.

"Hi," Oliver responded.

Felicity watched him for a long moment. Then, "thank you for coming to get me."

"You didn't think I would?"

She considered his question before smiling slightly. "I hoped you would, but that's not the same as knowing."

Oliver's eyes tracked down Felicity's face and stopped at the sight of the split in her lip. There was no blood, but it was angry and swollen.

"Is my mom okay?" Felicity questioned.

Oliver nodded slightly. "At the mansion with Thea."

"Is she okay?"

"She's … dealing." Oliver sighed heavily. Tommy wasn't the only one that he needed to make amends with. "It's a hard thing, finding out your brother is in the mafia and responsible for your mother's murder."

Felicity forgot to chastise Oliver for his choice of words in the face of realizing what he'd said. "You told her?"

"I should have told her a long time ago. There wasn't time to tell her everything, obviously, but it could have gone worse. She was more concerned with sending me off to save you."

Felicity shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "So she knows, then? About my father, and … us? Not being married, I mean. Not us, us, obviously, since there is no us."

Oliver didn't bother restraining his smile. Having Felicity near him again was wonderful, and hearing the nervous rambles that had caught him off guard in their first interactions made Oliver happy.

"Would you like there to be?" Oliver replied.

"Be what?"

"An us." Oliver rearranged himself in the seat so that he was facing Felicity. He hadn't intended to broach this subject, and especially not so soon after everything they'd faced, but the opportunity had practically sat up and slapped him in the face.

"You mean, like, a real 'us'?"

"Well, there's already a fake us," Oliver pointed out. "We could give the real us a go, if you want."

Felicity shook her head once. "This is getting confusing. What are you really talking about, Oliver?"

"I'm talking about you and I making a go of this."

Felicity's heart did a somersault in her chest. Though she'd been wearing it for some time already, the ring on her left ring finger suddenly felt heavier. She'd already professed her love for Oliver, and that love had only intensified in the intervening days, but knowing that he might feel the same … knowing that Oliver might love her as well was almost too good to be true. In what world would things work out this way?

"You …" Felicity couldn't find the words to finish the sentence, and so let it trail off.

"I thought I could do this alone," Oliver explained quietly. "I have been doing it alone for so long that I forgot there was another way."

Felicity huffed in dry humor. "And then I came along."

Oliver smiled. "Then you came along. And now … I don't want to go back to the way things were." Here he paused. There were words he wanted to say, and they were perched on the end of his tongue as though they were small birds waiting to take flight; Oliver held them back, though. Would it be better to wait, he wondered, wait until he didn't have to split his attention and could give the words the appropriate weight?

"Oliver?" Felicity prompted.

Of course she would know that there was more, Oliver mused. He studied his wife's face: the clear blue eyes behind her glasses and familiar ponytail, the industrial earring in one ear. Felicity had chosen to be his wife once; she had chosen to trust him when she had no basis to do so, and now she did. Would she choose to be his wife again?

"I love you, Felicity."

A strange thing happened when Oliver voiced those words: he became aware of being alive again, and just how much of that life he had missed out on in the last few years. A veil that he'd never bothered to notice had been shrouding him lifted, and Oliver Queen could see clearly for the first time how he'd stopped living. He had come back from Lian Yu as only half of a person, one foot in the light and the other in shadow; the day Moira Queen had been murdered, Oliver had turned away from the light all together.

Felicity Smoak hadn't found him; it was nothing so trite as that. Oliver had always known where he was – he simply hadn't wanted to move. There was nothing to motivate him to do so. Now, though … no matter what happened now, Felicity had given him incentive to rejoin the world. Felicity had been the one to show Oliver that there were still good things happening in the world, and good people that deserved to be protected; she had not changed him, but instead given him a reason to want to change himself. She had energized and enlivened him by virtue of nothing but being who she was.

Felicity had given him an amazing gift, and there was only one thing he could give her in return.

"I love you," Oliver repeated. "And that's true whether you stay or not. If you want to go, I'll help you and your mother go wherever you want."

Felicity swallowed down the thickness in her throat and moved slowly out of her seat. There wasn't much room in the cockpit, but she bridged the distance between them and took Oliver's face carefully in both hands. Even standing over him as she was there wasn't much distance between them.

Oliver tipped his head up in response to the slight pressure Felicity exerted on his face. He could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, but her hands were warm and steady.

"Thank you," Felicity whispered. "Thank you for not trying to keep me against my will, or using your love like a leash to restrain me. Thank you for being a decent human being, and a good man."

"I'm not …"

"Shh," she hushed with a mock stern look.

Oliver snorted out a quiet laugh, but said nothing.

"I'll never be able to repay you for what you've done for me, Oliver. But I want you to know, right now, that I'm not staying out of gratitude. I'm staying because I want to, and because I love you."

Oliver took a breath, held it, and then blew it out. "You're staying?"

"I am."

Felicity punctuated the words by leaning down slightly and pressing her lips gently against Oliver's. The bruised skin around her injured lip protested, but she ignored it. The sensation reminded her of a rather important bit of information, though.

"Oh!" Felicity exclaimed, pulling her mouth away but leaving her hands around Oliver's face. "I learned some important information while I was there. It's amazing how talkative bad guys are when they think they've won. Honestly, how arrogant do you have to be to just give up everything at the drop of a hat? I mean, it's …"

"Felicity."

"Right. So I don't know if I ever mentioned …"

"Felicity."

"What?"

Oliver lifted his arms and wrapped them around his wife's tiny waist, pulling her closer. "Unless it's life and death, it can wait. I think we've earned a break. We'll deal with whatever it is tomorrow."

Felicity thought for a moment. Oliver had a point; she had no way of knowing if Slade and Isobel had made it out of De Luca's house, and even if they had there was no immediate threat from them. They'd need time to regroup, or they were in prison, and either way Oliver was right. What was important now was that they headed home and reunited with their loved ones, and worked out what they wanted the road to look like going forward.

"So," Felicity started teasingly. "Wanna tell me what was up with the hood? You look good in green, by the way."

Oliver tightened his arms around Felicity. "That's a long story."

"When you're ready to tell it, I'll listen."

What was important now was that they were together, and they were finally free.


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, here we are. After nine months of hard work, we've come to the end of this particular journey. A lot of love, and time, and frustration went into this one. Thank you to everyone who has read, and reviewed, and favorited, and followed this story (and everyone who does so in the future). Your support means the world to me. I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and I look forward to our next adventure together.

**Epilogue**

* * *

 

 

"Anyway," Sara was saying, "by the time we got there, the place was a zoo."

"We'd made a plan to break in after dark," Lyla added. "Which was obviously blown to hell."

Felicity laughed and settled farther into Oliver's side. Her neck was still sore from the manhandling she'd endured, but she lowered it slowly until it rested on his shoulder. Seconds later, Felicity felt Oliver's cheek come to rest against the crown of her head; the hand resting on her waist tightened.

"So you just decided to run in, guns blazing?" Roy asked.

"Basically," Nyssa retorted dryly.

"You sound disgruntled," Thea observed. She sat down on Oliver's other side and curled her legs up beneath her.

"I do not enjoy spectator sports," Nyssa said.

This time Felicity wasn't the only one to laugh. The atmosphere was relaxed, and the chorus of laughter from so many people warmed the room in a way that the sunlight streaming through the windows couldn't. On the couch across from Felicity, Donna was smiling the way she had before Angelo De Luca reappeared in their lives.

That reunion had been full of squealing and tears. The squealing had been on Donna's part, of course, but the tears had been surprising in that they hadn't come only from Donna and Felicity. Thea had been crying when Felicity finally wrestled her way out of her mother's arms; at first, the blonde had felt terrible upon realizing that it was probably like a knife in Thea's heart to see a mother and daughter reunited. While that had undoubtedly been part of it, the larger part of it had come as quite the surprise to Felicity.

"I didn't know," Thea had explained as she'd hugged Felicity tightly. "I had no idea that you were in danger. I was so awful to you, and you must have been scared out of your mind. I'm sorry, Felicity."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Thea," Felicity had assured her.

Thea had cleared her throat and released the other woman, stepping away and standing tall as she brushed hastily at the tears on her cheeks. "Well," she'd announced loudly. "I think you fit in perfectly. Fake wife or not."

Everyone had laughed then, too.

"Alright kids, it's been fun," Diggle started, drawing Felicity out of her memories. "But I think it's time for the missus and me to head home."

"What?" Roy deadpanned. "It's only seven a.m."

"And we've been up all night," Lyla retorted.

The assembled group went about untangling themselves and rising from the couches so that they could move toward the door as one big unit. The procession was unreal to Felicity, who had been isolated and alone just a few short months ago; seeing everyone together now didn't make all the terrible things she'd endured worth it, but it did make the memory of those things hurt less. People were not prizes, but these people and their presence in her life were gifts.

This was her family, and there was nothing fake about it.

Digg and Lyla knew that they wouldn't make it out of the house without a hug from Felicity, and so didn't try. Sara and Nyssa were the next to leave, and the former crushed Felicity to her before leaving with a big smile and casual wave; Nyssa simply inclined her head and offered a small smirk.

Roy was the next one to head for the door. Felicity was less sure about his departure, but she could do nothing more than what she'd already done to let him know that he was welcome to stay in the mansion with them.

She tried anyway. "Are you sure you don't want to stay?"

Roy smiled. "Stop worrying, would you? I've learned my lesson. There's someone out there I need to find and make sure she doesn't make my mistakes."

"Girlfriend?" Thea queried.

Something in the way the girl asked made Felicity take notice, though she didn't draw attention to the moment.

Roy eyed Thea in a way that made Felicity think he'd noticed it as well. "Little sister," he clarified. "Or the closest thing I have to one, anyway." Then he looked at Felicity, and hesitated only a moment before hugging her. "Maybe I'll bring her around sometime."

"You better," Felicity warned. "Or I'll track you down. I still owe you lunch, anyway."

"Yeah you do."

She stood in the doorway and watched everyone disappear down the road, Oliver on one side and Thea and Donna on the other, and decided that family really was what you made it, after all.

"What do we do now?" Thea asked when the door was closed and the four of them had turned to head up the stairs.

"What do you mean?" Donna countered.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but Ollie can't sit still for more than ten minutes. There's no way he's going to be content as a business man."

"Felicity has a worrying need to stick her fingers in too many pies as well."

"Hey!" the blonde protested. "I don't like this ganging up thing you two are doing. Stop it."

"Well, they're not wrong," Oliver offered.

Felicity groaned. "What's wrong with the quiet life? A beach, a hammock, some cocktails … is that too much to ask?"

"Pick a beach and we'll go," Oliver said. "Whenever you want. But this city needs help, and without the Bratva connections I'm going to have to get creative."

"We're going to have to get creative," Felicity corrected.

"Creative how?" Thea prodded.

Everyone was quiet as they pondered the question. Then, with a half smile that spoke of something larger brewing, Felicity said, "what about that suit of yours?"

"What suit?" Donna and Thea said in unison.

Oliver studied his wife. "What about it?"

"Well, it hid your identity pretty well. You were standing right in front of me and I barely recognized you."

"What suit?" Thea repeated.

"So … what? You think he should take to the streets as some kind of … vigilante?" Donna challenged.

Felicity shrugged. "The idea needs some ironing out, obviously, but it could work. No one ever tied you to the Bratva."

"Except you," Oliver pointed out.

His wife grinned. "Except me."

"I think I liked it better when you two were pretending," Thea groused. Then, continuing, "is this what we've come to, now? From the mafia to vigilantism? You really think that'll work?"

"I think we need to do something," Oliver replied. "This is our city, Thea, and it needs help."

Thea stopped them in the middle of the hall and stared hard at her brother. "If we do this, are you going to shut me out again?"

"No."

"Even when things get hard and you feel like you need to protect me?"

Oliver paused. His expression clearly showed the internal struggle he was experiencing, and Thea's face fell.

"Even then," Oliver said finally.

"And I'll be sure to remind him he said that," Felicity said quickly. "So, what do you say?"

"Swiss Family Vigilante, here we come," Thea exclaimed.

"Don't call it that," Oliver hurried to correct.

"We're going to need some kind of name," his sister protested.

Sensing that the siblings were about to launch into an argument that would likely have no quick resolution, Felicity fell back until she was in step with her mother. Donna was quick to wrap an arm around her daughter's shoulders and press a kiss against her forehead.

"It's crazy, right?" Felicity whispered. "This is crazy."

"Life is crazy, sweetie."

"But this is something out of a novel. I mean, if you'd told me six months ago this would happen, I would have laughed and had your head examined."

Donna grinned. Ahead of them, Oliver and Thea were still bickering over whether or not their new venture needed some kind of title or code name. Thea's suggestions were getting more outrageous by the second.

"The surprise is the best part of being alive, baby. You never know what'll happen; you just never know."

Felicity wrapped her arms around her mom's middle and squeezed. The action pressed the band of the wedding ring into the skin of her finger, and the reminder of it made her smile. Sometimes, life got things wrong: the people who should have loved you, didn't, and the things you hoped for never came to pass; but that didn't mean that no one loved you, or that hope should be abandoned.

Because sometimes the right came in the middle of all the wrong; and sometimes, life got things ridiculously, overwhelmingly right.

Those, Felicity decided, were the best surprises of all.


End file.
